There's a wasp that just flew into my living room--by mistake. I'm sure he thought it was just another part of the big open world he inhabits. Now he is trying to find his way out. He's crawling up the glass window pane using three of his four legs. His back leg is like a rudder keeping him grounded. Ooops. A little slip but he quickly latches on again. Strange looking creature. Haven't seen one like it before. Big head attached to a smaller oval body and a stinger that looks like it could put a real hurt on you. I could squash him and examine him like we used to do in Biology class. Nah! I'll just watch him some more. He doesn't even know I'm here silently observing his every move. The birds are chirping occasionally, sun dodging in and out of the clouds and mostly I just hear the sound of nothing.
There's a moth that just landed on my chair. He probably hung on the wall all night and now wants to find his escape. Or maybe he wants to find a light or flame he can circle like a nut case. Oh. There he goes. Found the open window and went on his way.
The wasp is getting frantic now. Been climbing and slipping on that glass for a while now. I don't want him to get pissed and zip back into the room and find me. There. I eased open the window and let him fly back into his familiar outdoor world. I wonder where he will be going? Does he have a family that was missing him? Did they think he was gone too long? Will they ask about his journey when he returns?
The roses I picked yesterday are thinking about greeting the day. Those sweet buds of pink and red in the pitcher on the table are gently letting their petals peek open. One little layer peeling open to the fresh air on the gentle wisp of a breeze coming thru the open windows. How do they know when to do this I wonder? Who tells them how many petals to let relax and be in the moment? Must be God.
I hear the tinkle of cow bells. The herd is returning from their morning graze in a nearby field. They walk gently, slowly down the path beside my little house. I see them in twos or three abreast. They don't know I'm watching. I bet they are happy to have a full tummy and knowing they will soon be back home to lie in their own yard for a nap. They occasionally moo to each other, carrying on a simple conversation known only to them. Wonder what they talk about? Do they complain about the grass being too wet? Having to eat around thorny bushes? Complain about someone chomping on their favorite spot? Wish I knew.
I'm fascinated by the flora I see outside. Poinsettias that we only know as Christmas plants are ten foot trees here. Constantly blooming with their red and pink flowers. I remember how I would try to extend the blooming of the ones at home by locking them in a dark closet to trick them into a new season. It never worked. It just happens here all by itself as part of a master plan surely not known to me. My begonia is not just a small potted plant like I was used to depositing in a window box. It is a full shrub bursting with an orange-red palette for all to enjoy. I would like to give it a bit of pruning. Maybe give it some shape. That would be hard to do with just a kitchen knife. Guess I will just enjoy it the way it is.
I'm just being. In the moment. In the quiet. A silent observer to all the marvels of life on a Saturday afternoon. I like it. Having the time and space to relish the tranquility. Watching and observing differently, without distraction, able to wonder. Almost childlike. Just being...
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