There is a tree outside the window from where I sit while working at home amidst the coronavirus lock-down. I do not know what tree it is, I am no botanist. I don't feel the urge to know, either.
A month ago it was all barren. It evoked the beauty of a radiant sage: simple, sufficient, timeless.
Then it bore its leaves lightly, until about a week ago. When the spring winds blew, the leaves trembled delicately, like vulnerable pets who must be handled with great care.
Now it is dense, and reflects the light shone on it by the sun in short-lived glitters. They remind me of afternoons spent playing outside as a kid, observing these patterns of here-now-gone-now light with the wonder and attention of someone who notices something for the first time.
The tree was beautiful each time. In a few months it will be its most good-looking, waving about almost proudly in its colorful autumn glory.
And then be barren again, beautiful, once again.
When I paint, barren trees often make a beautiful subject. The gift of time is making all of us little things around us more mindfully. Nice to hear from you after ages.
ReplyDeleteYes, there is something about barren trees, something so inexplicable that words cannot do justice to it.
ReplyDeleteI hope that that (idle time leading to mindfulness) is what is happening around the world. My personal sense is that the role of busy-ness is often overstated in explaining a lack of mindfulness, and also that mindlessness can co-exist, even thrive, while you're idle. But there is a ray of hope in that the struggle against boredom may compel people to pay attention to things in an attempt to make them less boring to them.
In my case, I've been working much longer - and more dedicated - hours than I did prior to the lockdown, so time is not really plentiful. But I do enjoy the part where can unwind during the day if that is when I feel it is most needed, and not necessarily only at the end of the work-day.
Nice to hear from you too!