This morning I went to let the dog out, and the sky was the most amazing delicate salmon colour, fading to pale blue. The trees were a dense silhouette against this dramatic backdrop, and there was the most perfectly-placed sliver of silver moon. It was the most incredible sunrise, full of peace and promise, and I was filled with a strange mix of joy and sorrow. Joy that I've been given the chance to live on this amazing planet, with all its beauty and intricacy. Gratitude for the ability to see and appreciate all this goodness around me. Sorrow that the earth has had to bear with us and suffer for so long. That line from the Book of Enoch kept coming to my mind. When will the earth rest? It has done its job amazingly well, and now it's time to let it rest. It has earned the right to go to its next stage. I wonder if it can -- if it should -- forgive us.
I find myself in the surreal position of waiting for the geopolitical situation and climate change to end life as we know it at any moment, and yet still writing out my grocery list and organizing the septic tank cleaning, deciding whether to spray-foam insulate the garage, ordering garden seeds for next year. Without the full expectation that there will be a next year.
But humans have unconquerable hope, and we have to plan for a future just in case there is one. Well, there will be one, just maybe not the one we have always assumed will come to us. There is tension in that anticipation, but there isn't anxiety. Whether the world lasts another two days or two decades, I suppose in the bigger scheme of things it doesn't matter, if we have taken the time to soak in the sunrise and be grateful today.
No comments:
Post a Comment