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Where All the Miracles Went.

I came outside for a bit more fresh air. I’m tired, but I just wasn’t done with the day yet. The crickets are chirping off in the distance; providing surround sound to the early night. We are in a little piece of suburbia hugged in a crescent shape by a nature preserve. Not too much light pollution on that side, which is nice.

When I walk up the street and stare down into the neighboring valley I wonder about the scattered houses down below. I wonder how they get to where they are going and how they connect to roads and to the greater beyond. They seem like they are independent from what we have going on up here in the patch of suburbia. I don’t know them, but I know when they are cutting down the trees that have partially fallen in the last of the winter storms and I can see when the morning mist mixes with their wood fire smoke.

we are not so mysterious to one another, perhaps.

The breeze is cooling off tonight, but I can tell there was sun in the day. Kind of like a pie that is mostly cooled, but has just enough warmth to remember the oven.

The neighbors have a wind chime that is keeping me company. This way we both serve a purpose. The chimes are not alone and I am their audience. They play with what nature is giving them. Slow tones when the breeze retreats and a faster cadence when the occasional whirlwind comes into existence. It is like the great music of the universe. These crickets and this breeze and the chimes that are tuned to a pentatonic scale. They play randomly, but are oriented enough to each other and their overtones that it sounds like magic on purpose.

Perhaps it is.

I have hostas here. Friendly little green leaves that seem to be related to lettuce, but are used for landscaping. I did not know they were here at this new house - figured it out just yesterday. A few weeks back they appeared in little green fruit roll up shapes, but did not unfurl until now. It took a while for them to introduce themselves and for me to recognize who they are.

I like the spring when it comes in slow like this. I like the occasional haphazard rain and the clouds coming in and out of frame. I like the motion of it all. I like the fresh green surprise of the new hostas all around me as I sit on the little concrete path in front of my house in the twilight.

It’s refreshing to change a bit with the Spring. The neighborhood flags snap in the wind in agreement with the sentiment. We cannot stay the same. We change little bit by little. And if we’re changing anyway we might as well grow. Even the trees sound different in the wind. No longer sharp and hollow clatter in the frozen winter air. They bend. They twist. They dance. And some even bloom.

And they are made of the same stuff as us. Carbon recycled from the dawn of time when stars exploded. Just carbon and nitrogen star memories animated and walking around and breathing in what the trees breathe out.

If you ever wonder where all the miracles went in your life just step outside. It’s all there. The chorus of crickets rises in the distance and the neighbor takes her dog for the last walk of the day.

Goodnight dear world, I’ll see you tomorrow.

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