By Caitlin Kelly
A hundred million miracles
A hundred million miracles are happening every day
And those who say they don’t agree
Are those who do not hear or see…
— Flower Drum Song, musical, 1958
Take a walk now, anywhere there’s spring.
The warming sun.
I love the in-between-ness of spring, how tentative and hopeful it is, all those delicate green shoots bursting forth from the pale detritus of last fall’s dead leaves and twigs and scattered acorns.
And I know this path so well, after decades of walking it in every season, so I know when the light is low and slanting, and highlights every bit of moss and lichen and leaf.
I wait each year for a nearby lilac tree to blossom into purple fragrance. My favorite smell!
And what a basic, taken-for-granted miracle to hear the wind, to feel the sun, to walk easily and without pain. Mobility itself is a great gift.
I think of the many people who lie in a hospital or hospice bed, or waiting in a crowded and noisy and dirty refugee camp, or beneath the bombs of war…and walk in grateful silence.
It is such a simple thing, for some of us, to have a clean place to walk freely and safely, as a woman alone.
Here are a few of the lovely things I spotted on a recent walk near the reservoir in our town, 25 miles north of Manhattan:
And a very persistent little leaf who came along for the ride…