a why-ing kid
up
with go-vision eyes stretching
and out,
rambling
meandering rocky-rubble farm roads
and roaming over creeks, through timber strands,
brief forest, and out across pasture lands--
I discovered beautiful bits and lumps that matter
--pebbles, stones, and rocks
(especially when wet)
and odd ugly ones, to boot
on fun nature hikes
wide-eyed adventures--
outside of our minor village
in 50’s southeast Nebraska;
Put those bright objects, small hunks, in my pockets
where they lay heavy
or in my overloaded baggish hands,
carrying them home,
my free treasures of early youth
enlarging my throng of wonder
in my pine-walled basement room--
Yes, I became a rock-mongrel mutt;
And later found others, mostly bits of minerals,
my boyhood keepers
in the Black Hills, Rockies, Sierras,
and a small chunk of copper ore
from an open pit mine in Bisbee, Arizona,
and a few parched white bones from
a long-ago bison jump
near Lame Dear, Montana.
I became a boarder of pebbles, quartzes, feldspars, agates,
granite bits, and mica, sea-glass, iron pirate,
and who-know unknowns,
and fascinating shells and other sea life from 3 coasts--
a beachcomber of minor Beauty,
a voyager through this washed-up-n-down of life,
Adrift explorer, searcher, curious wanderer.
But now in receding elder age, mutated
by a stroke of bad luck,
I hesitently hobble about with a rolling walker alone
along Pismo sand dunes and Morro Rock shores
still searching, seeking for more special riff-raff,
to add to my ‘treasured things,’
our rooms’ shelves;
Here they still lay waiting
inert for another
I/It encounter...
Oh, the aesthetic depth of minor things,
bits that matter which sometime
transcend
into present
WONDER!
Yes, objects of beauty that exist in Deep Time...
In not too many years,
I will leave them behind;
and those long-enduring things will
exist others of the future.
And this long rumination of my life-long collections
Reminds me of a pebbled thought of beauty for present living--
We humans get washed up
on this shore of existence,
surrounded and crowded
by things and circumstances
we didn’t choose--
We all get roughed down and polished by adversity...
But the wonder of our human brain’s neural plasticity--
is we all get to choose
how we respond to life’s circumstances,
harsh trials, and horrific tragedies--
Yes, until our death, we get to create anew
Each moment,
If only briefly...
--
Conclusion:
What has washed up on your shore today?
What beautiful pebbled moment of wonder?
Or what irritant, ache, troubling circumstance, or tragedy
has gotten lodged in your
oyster mind and heart?
What can you do to turn this troubled moment into a precious
gem/pebble/stone/agate?
In the LIGHT,
Dan Wilcox
UPDATED 7/19/23
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