Reflections from the Swamp
Dear Reader
The first days of Spring are full of firsts. We see the first goose, Robin, Tulips, and today, the first swallow.
We’ve all seen this life cycle many times before, yet we welcome each new sign of life as though it is a small miracle.
A keen sense of mortality makes each day splendid, and I loved meeting the geese, the Robins, and the leopard frogs for the first time. Our world is shared by many. We all awaken in the Spring.
Van Morrison (not a Dutchman) quoted the lines. These are the days now that we must savour; we must enjoy while we can. These days will last forever; you’ve got to hold them in your hand. Each day brings a new smile, a promise of a new life. Small miracles illuminate each day.
So many of these minor miracles are only seen by people who really want them, people who say “yes” to them. Our eyes and hearts can see and feel life’s wonders and invite them into our daily experiences. Getting out of the house and going for walks in Nature starts the process of seeing these tiny wonders. Slowing down and becoming aware of the budding life around you opens the way. Suddenly, we become part of our surroundings.
Weeks ago, a couple of friends and I planned to go camping earlier than usual in Algonquin Park. The weather reports predicted heavy snow for the three days we would be there. None of us were brave enough to call the trip off. We arrived at the campsite just as the snow started falling in earnest. By morning, we woke up to see every tree and every branch covered in thick, wet snow. It was like walking through the closet and into the world of Narnia. The transformation of forests and lakes changed the landscape into a world of small miracles. Virgin snow covered every path with small footprints belonging to rabbits and squirrels. The air was cool, not cold, perfect for walking in the winter wonderland.
As we left on the third day, the temperature rose, and the snow hanging on the trees began to melt off them in clumps, releasing the branches and allowing them to spring back into position.
By the time we got home, the forests were bare of snow, and most snow on the ground had melted. A visitor to Algonquin Park during the next week would have to accept my story in faith. No physical evidence remained, and yet the experience seems eternal. Sometimes, you have to be there.
We all recently had an opportunity to witness and take part in an eclipse. There are few times when so many simultaneously choose to live in the moment, stop, and experience this celestial event. It was a joyful communal experience for millions. In this region, the eclipse was partial and often covered in clouds.
I was half expecting Gabriel, the archangel, to somehow descend and transform the world, enlightening us. Often, illusions of grandeur, spurred on by Disney, block our illumination of small miracles. Small miracles don’t need embellishment. The thrill was more related to a sense of history and being a part of a vast celebration of the wonders of the cosmos. Since the beginning of time, humans have been mesmerized by eclipses.
Even if the event was fleeting, it represents that miracles and wonder surround us. In Nature, often a bird appears and vanishes before we can focus our camera. A moose crosses the highway, wades into the woods and disappears.
Those of us who are older may never see another eclipse. Last time, opportunities heightened my desire to take it all in. I enjoy the lingering sense of the beauty of science, the wonder of physics, and the joy of living in a world of small miracles.
