“Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.”
“Peace is always beautiful.” Walt Whitman
“Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”
To Kill a Mockingbird
A couple of weeks ago, I took my boys out for a little hike. It started with two boys not wanting to leave the house and sporadic fussing throughout the hour drive to the trail. At our arrival, the clouds were dark and the temperature 20 degrees lower than at home. We were not dressed for these conditions. This started another tirade. By this point, I was doubting this trip was a good idea. But I can be stubborn at times, we were doing this hike even if I got soaked and needed to drag two whiney boys. I distracted the eldest by giving him the responsibility of taking care of our dog Pepper. The youngest was just content with a small snack. I am sure he saw I was determined. We were going to find pleasure being outdoors and I prayed we would make it around the three mile hike without a down pour. The first mile of the quiet trail was lined with lovely rhododendron and mild complaints. By a mile and half, the boys had created an adventure. The pace they set was fast. At a rather fast stretch a bit of yellow attracted my attention. “Oh!” I exclaimed. My youngest immediately stopped and echoed my response. “Isn’t it beautiful?” I asked as my eldest joined us to see what had drawn our attention. The loveliness of the waterlily finished the transformation. . . content boys and happy mum. In the end, in spite of losing our trail and getting wet muddy feet, it turned out to be a wonderful morning infused with beauty.
Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you’ll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?
The sun, above the mountain’s head,
A freshening lustre mello
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! ’tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There’s more of wisdom in it.
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your Teacher.
She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless-
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.
One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
Sweet is the love which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:-
We murder to dissect.
Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with our a heart
That watches and receives.