Yesterday I took advantage of the sunshine and warm weather and headed out to the New York Botanical Garden again--I know I went a few weeks ago, but being surrounded by nature just felt like the right thing to do. Plus, it was the very last day to witness the orchid show for the year. How could I pass that up?
Interestingly enough, I was not as captivated by the orchids as I was by the tranquil rock garden that is tucked behind a hill. On my way up the hill, I was greeted by a friendly rabbit munching on the bright green grasses. He stayed close to the safety of a large bush, but seemed content with my presence. I entered the rock garden, giving a last glance back at the rabbit, found a bench and started to think.
I'm not sure what was more awe inspiring: the rabbit grazing on the sun warmed grass, or the perfectly hued, white and black flecked bluejay that flew by and perched in a young sapling. Perhaps it was the chipmunks playing and scuttling through the low branches of the pines. Right now a bird I cannot see is grappling with a twig or insect. I hear the digging, the pursuit. Nearby a waterfall is cascading down, down, down--a never ending trickle through the algae laden rocks. The water looks purple with tree pollens coursing through it. The pond is undulating with quiet ripples as the sun tickles it. Soon it will be breeding mosquitos and tadpoles. The colors of another bluejay pop against the buds of the trees; it will be much easier for him to hide among the leaves in a few weeks.
A day like today begs you to appreciate the breeze. Before long it will be too hot to notice the coolness, the freshness of the Earth's breath. I love it when the wind moves the part in my hair as if it were bringing me back to a more natural state of being and putting the strands back only prompts the wind to rearrange them again.
There is nothing like the crunch of soles against pebbles. It's a sound that you would know anywhere. For me there is comfort in the sound and in the massage the pebbles give my tired feet.
Everyone moves around as if life is one instagram photo opportunity after another. Why don't they pause? Listen, look, put down your phone. How can you think?
It is puzzling to me that more women than men are walking around with gigantic smiles on their faces, fascinated and excited by all of the life that has started to reawaken in the garden. They pull men around with them, asking them what they like, what they find beautiful. I overheard one woman say, "You're just walking through here as quickly as you can. Did you even see these?!" However, I've also noted that more men than women are actually working in the gardens. How does that work?
So many bird calls. So many answers. I love the fleeting shadows the birds make as they fly by. Yet another bluejay is preening in the sun, reflected in the water, then scared off by the red breasted robin. The robin makes me sure, without a grain of doubt, that spring is here to stay. Even the budding trees and bursting daffodils don't fill me with the same conviction as the sight of all the robins.
I never grow tired of having birds land near me. My stomach clenches in anticipation. I hold my breath. I try so hard to keep the bird close by ignoring all the functions my body needs to live. It's worth it for another moment close to these fragile, singing creatures. I think that's why everyone loves stories like Dr. Doolittle; to be able to get close to and understand animals is such a joy to even think about.
The air just smells so. . .pure.
It's becoming clear to me why people who write (and write well) need the silence, beauty and truth of the earth to make sense of language. I can never think like this when I am cooped up in my apartment, glancing out the window in an attempt to feel the wink of the sun. I am on a bench in a rock garden, and my heart and eyes (and pen) are in love.
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