The contemplative Trappist monk Thomas Keating wrote that silence is God’s first language. I would posit that nature is the second.
Lately we have had balmy breezes coming off the tropical storms. For me they have been like an orchestra: soft strains of strings, followed by rousing stanzas of woodwind, brass and percussion, as the gusts build, reach an apex, then fall to a reverent hush. Indeed, the Irish poet John O’Donohue described wind as the first music. Summer evenings crickets and cicadas join in the chorus; fireflies fill the woods with their tiny lanterns of hope.
A flaming red and gold sunset fades into pastels and then into deep luxurious blue. Night settles on the woods and the whispers of night creatures begin to fill the air, sometimes punctuated by the hoot of the owl or the howl of the coyote, the “timpani” among the forest musicians.
When Terry and I lived on the lake, we would sometimes sleep on the dock. After a day filled with the sometimes near-frantic activity of boats and jet skis, the lake would relax into night. Stars would tiptoe into the sky to join the moon and we would be rocked to sleep by the gentle gliding of the water.
Though sometimes driven inside by discomfort before morning, we would often find ourselves wakened by sun’s first rays and the early conversation of birds: “How’d you sleep?” one might say. “Oh the baby kept me up! And now he’s hungry and I better get busy finding some worms!” I could imagine another responding. 😊
I have seen photos of hospitals in the influenza pandemic of 1918, with lines of beds moved outside so that sick people could get fresh air and sunshine. We can take a page out of that playbook and immerse ourselves in nature, which speaks to us in the language of peace, of healing, of hope.
May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.
Hope’s Café Bonus: Summer Treat. Make some fruit kabobs: cut favorite fruit into bite sized pieces and line up on a skewer (bananas, grapes, strawberries, raspberries). Serve cold.
8 thoughts on “The Language of Nature”
What beautiful images you paint with your words!
Thank you, Debbie. Means a lot coming from an artistic person like you!
Wonderful words today which only add to what I have been contemplating. Becky and I were reflecting on something similar as we walked around a wetlands that were established in the 1990’s near our home. The place was teeming with birds after the recent rains. Everything was just “alive” with the higher water levels and vegetation growing. What a wonder that this place speaks to so many people who come to walk, run, birdwatch, and like us share the joy with our dog. We were remarking as to why we are drawn as humans to such a place and why it “speaks to us.” Also, wondering if nature and the animals also conversei about the abundance and joy of life. Seems like there is more wonder and communication around me than I am perceiving.
Truly, “more wonder and communication around” than we tend to perceive!
What a great metaphorical antidote with all the natural world to the chaos on all fronts Kate.
Thanks for sharing. Rosemary
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Thank you, Rosemary. We do need respite from the chaos.
Mike and I were walking at the Audobon Society preserve yesterday and were expressing the sacredness of that space. Your words are much more eloquent.
Thank you, Becky. Happy that you could find them uplifting.