One of the many blessings of our trips to Shaw over the years has been the joy of driving through the Skagit Valley. Last weekend was no exception: it's daffodil season in the valley, and the acres of yellow blossoms provide an achingly beautiful contrast to the mountains that loom in the distance.
What I love about that is not just the color, but also the life metaphor offered by the rows of daffodils. You can stand by the roadside and look out across the rows to the mountains and sky; you can choose to focus just on the field of daffodils, or you can kneel down and revel in the bright particularity of a single golden bloom: it's all beautiful.
In a way it gives us permission -- or perhaps forgiveness -- for our inevitable urge to step out of now and look toward the future. Yes, the blossoming now has a gift in it, and, yes, life is made of rows and rows of now. But if we lift our eyes we come to see the overall shape of things, the patterns of events and the glorious perfection that lies in wait for those who choose to trace the connection across the field of now to that which is other. And it soon becomes apparent that that which is like us and that which is different is all part of one larger whole, to which each element contributes its own unique beauty.
Ah, probably too much philosophy; too much head/thinking/work. Let's just sit back and breathe in all this beauty. For now, I think, that's more than enough to feed my soul!