A spider…its web…a bit of morning sun. Simplicity itself, yet the result is more than a mere tableau of exquisite natural beauty. It is a message, a proclamation that while much is wrong out there, beyond the meadows and woods, across the stream—some good things remain.
The sun still shines. A red-tailed hawk again circles high in a clear blue sky. And a mossy-backed old snapping turtle, the diameter of a dinner plate, paddles slowly around the pool, looking for a bit of sunlight on a rock or log so he can clamber up and warm himself for an hour or two.
The earth endures.
A few feet from where I stand the river mumbles in ancient tongue as it slips across the rocky riffle—sparkling, swirling, inscrutable, untiringly finding its way along the sycamore-lined path leading to the sea. As always, I wish I were going along, a fellow sojourner sharing the journey. Oh, to have the carefree ambitions of a river. Wouldn't that be wonderful?
I don't, alas…and wishing and dreaming won't ever make it so. But I have the moment, and whatever my remaining allotment of time which lies beyond. Plus I have the river and birds and that cantankerous old snapper that's still searching for his warming spot—and I have the spider and web and sunlight shining through.
I take heart. A day which begins in such beauty and telluric augury is never all bad.