Lately there has been so much disturbing news, here and afar, that sometimes I find it hard to know what to say about anything. Instead I'm trying to focus
on happy memories and the small pleasures that are close at hand. Yesterday. I drove out to Living Soils
Farm in Yellow Point and, as I drove along Quennell Road, I was cheered to see
the masses of daisies and buttercups at the edges of the road and the peaceful
views of birds on the lake. Further along I admired the cathedral-like canopy
of cedars, maples and pine trees that form an arch over the road. Our planet
is in bad shape for many reasons, but there is still beauty all around us.
As I drove
home, now bearing bags of fresh peas, strawberries, salad greens and a very
handsome cauliflower, I admired the light over the lake and was reminded of a
message my dear friend Marilyn sent recently which included a poem written by
Polish writer Adan Zagajewski, who died earlier this year:
Try to Praise the Mutilated World
Remember
June's long days,
and
wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.
The
nettles that methodically overgrow
the
abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You
must praise the mutilated world.
You
watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one
of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while
salty oblivion awaited others.
You've
seen the refugees going nowhere,
you've
heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You
should praise the mutilated world.
Remember
the moments when we were together
in a
white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return
in thought to the concert where music flared.
You
gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and
leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise
the mutilated world
and
the gray feather a thrush lost,
and
the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and
returns.
Translated by Clare Cavanaugh.
Nature is healing, and a return to memories can often offer joy.. Despite the troubling news, there is yet so much to praise.
