Monday, July 18, 2005
Beauty in the Midst of Everything
The following description, by Elizabeth Reninger, is a lovely reminder that moments of transcendent beauty occur even in the midst of widespread chaos. Elizabeth is spending the summer months as a yoga teacher at a Buddhist retreat center in Colorado.
Yesterday evening, at dusk, the sky was filled with lightning, a
constant rumble of thunder (sometimes whisper-soft, sometimes
resounding with a power that seemed to shake the mountains
themselves) ... this along with a sweet wash of bird-song (coming
from who-knows-where ... the birds themselves seemed to be hiding
from the storm, even as they sang its praises). It wasn't yet
raining, just this display of light and sound. I was walking slowly
along a path through the valley's meadow, tall grasses,
wildflowers ... a single deer and two fawns were feeding on the
grass ... then the fawns suckled at the mother's teets (I had never
seen this before). There was one other woman walking nearby ...
mostly we shared this most amazing time in silence, an occasional
meeting of eyes. Then the sun dropped into the space between the
storm-clouds and the mountain ridge, bathing the meadow and eastern
slopes in deep gold ... the lightning still stitching the sky
above, with the thunder, and the deer with her fawns pausing, then
bounding, then pausing again, sometimes looking up at us, curious
but unafraid ... The land ~ even with the thunder and birdsong
(perhaps because of it) ~ held a deep silence, a stillness within
this rather dramatic movement above ... and then, just a couple
minutes afer I arrived at my tent, the sky opened with a downpour of
rain, within the thunder & lightning ... and the setting sun now
illuminating even more brightly the entire thing (the raindrops,
rain-streams themselves seemed to be shining down from shining
clouds) ... I watched the storm for a while out of my tent window,
streams of water soaking and pooling and running braided down the
hillside, around and over the surface-roots of ponderosa pines ...
And then the sun dropped behind the mountains, the sky darkening
into night, and the rain, with the day-light, subsiding ... Around
midnight I woke from a restless sleep, unzipped my tent, stepped
outside beneath a completely clear, starry sky ... the ground
beneath my feet still damp, yet the storm itself just a memory ...
copyright, Elizabeth Reninger (author, "And Now the Story Lives Inside You," WovenWord Press, Boulder, Colorado)
Yesterday evening, at dusk, the sky was filled with lightning, a
constant rumble of thunder (sometimes whisper-soft, sometimes
resounding with a power that seemed to shake the mountains
themselves) ... this along with a sweet wash of bird-song (coming
from who-knows-where ... the birds themselves seemed to be hiding
from the storm, even as they sang its praises). It wasn't yet
raining, just this display of light and sound. I was walking slowly
along a path through the valley's meadow, tall grasses,
wildflowers ... a single deer and two fawns were feeding on the
grass ... then the fawns suckled at the mother's teets (I had never
seen this before). There was one other woman walking nearby ...
mostly we shared this most amazing time in silence, an occasional
meeting of eyes. Then the sun dropped into the space between the
storm-clouds and the mountain ridge, bathing the meadow and eastern
slopes in deep gold ... the lightning still stitching the sky
above, with the thunder, and the deer with her fawns pausing, then
bounding, then pausing again, sometimes looking up at us, curious
but unafraid ... The land ~ even with the thunder and birdsong
(perhaps because of it) ~ held a deep silence, a stillness within
this rather dramatic movement above ... and then, just a couple
minutes afer I arrived at my tent, the sky opened with a downpour of
rain, within the thunder & lightning ... and the setting sun now
illuminating even more brightly the entire thing (the raindrops,
rain-streams themselves seemed to be shining down from shining
clouds) ... I watched the storm for a while out of my tent window,
streams of water soaking and pooling and running braided down the
hillside, around and over the surface-roots of ponderosa pines ...
And then the sun dropped behind the mountains, the sky darkening
into night, and the rain, with the day-light, subsiding ... Around
midnight I woke from a restless sleep, unzipped my tent, stepped
outside beneath a completely clear, starry sky ... the ground
beneath my feet still damp, yet the storm itself just a memory ...
copyright, Elizabeth Reninger (author, "And Now the Story Lives Inside You," WovenWord Press, Boulder, Colorado)
