The dew looks up

Photo by Vayun Sharma on Unsplash

Now in the blessed days of more and less
when the news about time is that each day
there is less of it I know that
as I walk out through the early garden
only the day and I are here with no
before or after and the dew looks up
without a number or a present age

W S Merwin
Dew Light
The Moon Before Morning

The blessed days of more and less: the happy and absorbed red squirrel is certainly more! As is the woodpecker who is not in the slightest troubled by my daily stopping close to listen at the portal of his own persistent more and less-ness. The quietness up here, and the wide space, is less and also more, so simultaneously both.

It’s all like one of those lovely old retro clocks that stops frequently, because in our modern day we forget to wind their battery-less clockworks. More and less, less and more. Absence of mechanical time. So yes: blessed.

Though it requires a bit of effort on our part, to place ourselves often enough, and quiet enough, into the spaces of timelessness, it’s worth it: for in the encounter there we hear the Ancient Echo, and the dew atop the wooden gate holds our own reflection.

ancient telling and art in today’s morning sky

All souls

Nationwide fog has dissipated here and I’m reading in our garden, glistening and wet with morning dew. Richest of autumn hues around me, warm sunlight on shirt-sleeved shoulders, white china cup of coffee near at hand, breakfast porridge still present upon the tastebuds and warm-in-the-tum. It is, I hear, a record-breaking November morning. It is, I feel, a glorious moment to be alive.

You know how it is? How your throat catches when, looking up from the book for an instant, you catch your own reflection, together with that of a host of flowers and the deep blue sky, in each of several hundred dew drops glistening on a single green leaf? The coolness of a single drop to trembling finger’s touch?

All souls must know this from timeless time to time. Eternity caught up in a moment. A moment caught up in eternity – what it is for one soul to be viscerally aware of its connection to all souls, and all souls to one Soul – and yes, its having landed on the rim of my coffee cup – as though designed reminder – connected somehow even to this tiny, thirsty, scent-attracted fly. All souls. Living and dying and dying for living. Through all ages all souls fly …

On a Fly Drinking Out of His Cup

Busy, curious, thirsty fly!
Drink with me and drink as I:
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip and sip it up:
Make the most of life you may,
Life is short and wears away.

Both alike are mine and thine
Hastening quick to their decline:
Thine’s a summer, mine’s no more,
Though repeated to threescore.
Threescore summers when they’re gone,
Will appear as short as one!

William Oldys
1696-1761

Where will summers gone appear as short as one?

In company with all souls, in a timeless eternity, where innumerable, iridescent reflections may be seen and delighted in – even whilst new creations tumble into view – in glorious timelessness, alive.