How does my mother always know the words that are balm, the sentiments that refresh both body and spirit? It is just a simple postcard, her photograph of a breathtaking rainbow,with a few lines written on the back in her signature handwriting. But how those lovely words delight:
"The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little stardust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched."
Every morning I set out to glean the treasure tucked and arrayed in nature's glorious unfolding. Today was unusual; my mind usually moves faster than my legs as I walk, but this morning I only seeked to be filled-thinking nothing. The sounds gorging hidden forest undulate: vultures' beating wings, Heron cry, woodpecker's hammer, a rustle of leaves, resounding thud that startles, pine whisper. It's all music, all creation's symphony, each manifestation orchestrated into lovliness. And the song swells within and fills me up with more than I could hope for.
"The empty vessel makes the greatest sound."