April: On Nature
April 24
Today's reflection was inspired by the poem "There Will Come Soft Rains" by Sara Teasdale.
She wakes from the long sleep. One in which she dreamt of blossoms and wind and rivers and soil. The day’s first light falls upon her as she rises from her bed of moss and leaves and she steps forward into the world with nothing to separate her from the air or ground or sky.
She watches the sparrows flutter, listens to their song, watches them alight upon the antlers of deer, twitching their tails in an odd language, one that brings a smile to her face.
A great city stretches out before her. It was once a place where she was not welcome, where they would take blade and poison and wage war against her. But she does not recall that life—not since this place has been burned and hollowed out. The buildings and spires of cement and steel that rejected her touch have no choice now but to let her in and she gives it not a second thought as her children of vines and moss and lichen clamber over the structures, using them to reach such great heights as they have never reached before, and they do not offer their thanks to these spires and buildings because these spires and buildings exist solely for them and for them to climb.
Listen on for the rest . . .
