Again

I am not sure if it is
because the woods are so vast
that the smallness of awe in
a tiny trout lily blossom is
almost missed. It may just
be that nothing out here -
living in the mountains as
we now do – ever makes much
fanfare about its existence. A
birthing is about as silencing
as a dying – and you could easily
cross paths with either without
setting out to.

But, once you set your eyes on it,
whether it is a bear trail off into
the brush or a blue jay hopping and
pecking bits of broken nuts, the
kaleidoscope of wonder opens up
and you begin to see a thousand,
thousand strands of interest and glory.

How could you have ever lived a day
without having noticed what a bear
smells like and how a jay cocks its
head to the left and to the right –
as if it is hearing the bugs crawl
or the earth cracking underneath it.
But here, in the place that is hiding
the power of infinitesimal beings and
light rapturous cavalcades of life,
when you see a small thing, you see it
in all of its worth. It shouts at
you to notice its depth and character.

Or, maybe it’s just that I have slowed
down a bit and can actually see, again.