Page 93 - Dark Matter:Women Witnessing Issue #3 - December 2015
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Dark Matter: Women Witnessing - December, 2015 Issue #3 - EXTINCTION / DEVOTION
In our long drought, rain manifests as “Not Raining”—its essence conveyed through absence. When
have we—rain and I—ever been so familiar, as through this thirsty longing? Over and over I bring it
close, smell what I remember of it, taste its clearness, hear its patter, the gush through gutters, feel it
cover my upturned face and trickle, wet and cool, down my neck.
This Morning
An act of faith: I fill a brown ceramic bowl, small enough to discourage bathing, with cold clear water
and pledge to sterilize it daily. Now I wait to see.
This is an act of self-forgiveness. The softening of all or nothing, the thawing of paralysis from guilt. A
recognition of nature’s resilience. A few small birds have recently perched on the railing, peeked in my
windows, pecked in the duff.
This Moment
As I keep watch for birds, a redbud sapling taps and brushes
at the glass door, calls my attention. A little tree in a three-
gallon container that I left to die—I couldn’t justify the water in
this severe drought. The tree is not edible, not native, and the
conservation guidelines suggest no. But it clung to life in
desiccated soil, leaves unfurling despite neglect, heart-
shaped and green. They quiver like alpine aspens.
This sapling seems to ask – can it stand sentry by my door?
It has branches perfectly sized for songbirds’ tiny feet. Who
am I to say no, to be so stingy? Right action is complicated:
what was a green thumb has become extravagance as we
shift from nurturers to conservators of resources.
Yet life wants to be lived, to green out. Guidelines are good, but rigidity becomes a drought of spirit.
Can I say “yes” to this one redbud spreading its tiny boughs? For returning warblers to alight upon? A
being that can live on recycled water from the bird basin?
Can I say “yes” to songbirds splashing and sipping as they slowly return? Count them - one by one, two
by two.
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