After weeks of rain and cold it’s hard to believe that the ground is preparing its annual display of miracles.
Then comes a mild day full of sunshine and colour and familiar scents returning to the palette of your senses that you thought had disappeared forever into the monochrome of winter. And you see that the miracle has already begun and doesn’t like its first stirrings to be looked at. Nature, if we see it in human terms, can be shy about its most beautiful parts.
Perhaps all this life was not as absent as appearances suggested. Provocative green tips are breaking the surface of the cold earth where they had been waiting for that kairos moment of convergence when what is unseen becomes visible. The air is tinged with at least a latent warmth. And even if tomorrow relapses into the harsh embrace of winter you know something now that changes the way you deal with it.
For a brief moment in our artificial worlds the miracles of technology pale by comparison with the mysteries of the cosmos. We see that we belong to a world much deeper and vaster than we can construct with our own hands and brains. For a moment of grace, the cosmos runs through our veins.
We know that, although in the midst of all this beauty there are people grieving for their loved ones, as Steve is today at Marg’s funeral in Melbourne, all is present now, the visible and the invisible, what is here and what is around the corner. And, as the wise discovered and we repeat too often as a mere platitude, though always with hope, all will be well. It’s too beautiful to be otherwise. Spring on Bere Island, autumn in Melbourne. All at the same time on the same innocent earth.
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