“Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually.”
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel
The small green fields are wild, there is not one purposely planted organism in sight.
There is just an abundance of tillage weeds and mighty but sweet gorse bushes, divided by crumbling stone walls. An old trough brown with rust, lays fallen to one side no longer employed. The old gate secured to its post by rope whines in rhythm with the wind, throwing a disgruntled jackdaw off balance and into flight.
Ditches burst with layers of trees, shrubs and brambles protruding undisturbed onto the road. One shrub gently holds delicate red ballerinas, pirouetting in the breeze. Masses of great fat bumblebees swarm to the ballerinas in search of their sweet nectar, hovering before them as though mesmerized by their dance.
Hidden in the ditch stand what were at one time a man’s wooden stakes bounding his field, once purposeful but long since abandoned, they now stand as towers of ivy. Bushes of blackberries cling to anything they can, bowing with plenty. Empty trees of holly stand on the verges between the fields and ditches, taking their ease after winters onslaught on their coveted bloom.
The sound of a stream trickling can be heard with every step and sounds very near, but remains hidden. It sounds purposeful, urging one to follow it to its destination with a pep. The road runs a bright green carpet of grass down its center, with Buttercups and Dandelions flourishing in tranquility. The roads surface is cragged and uneven; it has been a long time since it was first laid
The skyline is only broken by hilltops, most of them heaving with vast forests.
From deep within, menacing echos of calls can be heard. Elusively evading our sights, thought wonders what lies in the belly of the dense forests.
A tiny body of water appears to the left of the road, and the stream reveals itself, falling a short distance into the shallow pool. It is no more then 4 or 5 inches deep, a haven for the little creatures. Proving as much, there is a small but well beaten track leading down its bank. The sounds of the stream continue on past the pool; it hasn’t reached its final destination yet.
The evening approaches and it’s time to return.
The sun is sitting low in the sky casting shadows across the road.The birds chorus is beginning to quieten. As if in accompaniment, the music lessens as the sun falls into the horizon. The road diverges into a gravel lane, leading to a small house basking in the setting sun. The sunlight casts a human shadow walking up the lane, opening the door and entering. Turning for one last look, framed by the doorway, the very last piece of the sun disappeared behind the skyline, leaving a sky of rolling crimson in its wake.
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