Because it’s been too long and there hasn’t been time and my mind’s been on and you’ve been on it.
The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
— William Wordsworth
Little we see . . . or even notice? With all the hustle and bustle, and bad news and bad guys, and pressures and deadlines, and so on and so on, sometimes it’s more than this introverted thoughtful can handle. We live in a beautiful world. Our beautiful home. And yet what do we do with it? Where do we stand?
Don’t believe me (about the beautiful part)? Check out this video.
After writing about writer’s block the other day, I did my usual. I cleaned my apartment (surprise, surprise), did laundry, responded to emails, hung out with Jon, and decided to “man up” and get over my dislike for riding in the city. I took off on my bike (Jon wanted to go for a run instead) and rode thirty miles up the Berkeley hills — to here.
View from Grizzly Peak
On the backside of the mountain, I saw these guys:
Looking at San Pablo Reservoir. California has happy cows!
And then on my run down by the water last night, I saw this:
Nature really does have it, folks.
I’m waiting in line at the drive-thru at Starbucks the other day. It’s a beautiful evening and, after rolling down my window and turning off the radio to order, I don’t bother to roll the window back up or turn on the radio. My mind is a million miles away, but, suddenly, I hear sounds. Zweet-zweet-zweet! I look up. Birds are flitting to and from nests built into the STARBUCKS sign. Zweet-zweet! And then . . . Buzzzzzz. A bumblebee meanders near my window as a soft breeze creeps into my car and tousles my hair.
Suddenly, I know: Everything’s going to be all right . . .
Except, Honk!! Oh sh-t! What happened to the line?!
“The earth has music for those who listen.”
Image: Mine. All rights reserved.
Sunrise in the Sierra Nevadas
Forgive me. I was an English major. My last post reminded me of this poem by William Wordsworth.
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn. Continue reading