Last year when we had a guest living with us from Australia, she described the spring and summer seasons as a “symphony” because there were different flowers and blossoms playing and popping up all the time—much different than what happens in the Australian climate.
The other morning I read this line from Wislawa Szymborska in a poem:
No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way.
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way.
Both of these are reasons why I change my normal routine during the warmer months. One has many options to get from the northeast part of the monastery to the southwest (or vice versa) on the first floor. (Through the chapel, or past the administrative offices, or up the steps and through the “west wing,” or down the steps past the garden room.) For me, though, the only way to travel right now is through our inner courtyard. It provides you about thirty more seconds of sunlight and outdoor time each day, double that if you are returning, too!
When I was walking through this past week, I noticed the first iris in bloom. The next day there were five—“no two days will teach what bliss is in precisely the same way.” It is wonderful to witness the symphony gaining momentum.
Of course, this is not limited to our inner courtyard alone. When I went for a run yesterday morning, the sun gracing the young grapevines stopped me in my tracks and begged for my attention.
May we find small ways to listen to the symphony of nature each day, finding the bliss ever present, ever new.
Let us walk in the holy presence.
