The Wind Rises

The Wind Rises
Monday, June 21st, 2021
22 Celsius
North Vancouver, BC
(Carson Graham Park)

The wind rises. The wind rises and the clear morning with it. The sky draws a beautiful sandy landscape, the sun still holds its breath before the lights of dawn. For more than a moment, time is away, the landscape freezes itself with the cold flicker of a bee’s wings.

Delicate tiny being, yellow with sunshine, flutters between the intricate patterns of colors that the blossoms have arranged. The wild blackberry’s stems and thorns, the flicker of her wings carries a golden currency, as if the weight of the world is swaying between a bee’s legs.

She jumps her way between Persephone’s daughters, recalling the golden days where she used to walk among them. A forgotten dryad.

Little the buttercups and dandelions know about her, and yet she is forever welcome. They open their scanty petals and carry her through the warm freshness of the day. Like bells, these petals howl to the path of the wind, shouting away the treasure of its pistils.

Now, days are golden too, but have turned grayer and distant, as Eolo’s tune whispers one hundred years of solitude, spreading nostalgic dreams in silent loudness.

The Sun reaches its zenith, and the wind’s music halts. Harmony is played in the strings of a new rhythm; the day is going and going and here I lie, still. Lately, I have felt uneasy with the idea that time is finally catching up with me. But not here, not now. I am seated beside a pinus tree which I hope has seen better days. I am once again reminded of the innate beauty and complexity that lies in a single tree. Its needles are not perfect, and they don’t need to be. I try to guess its height. At least 8 meters I decide. Trees evaporate 95% of their water through nanoscale-pores, creating immense negative pressures of 10’s of ATM, and although water should be boiling, the xylem tubes which carry it can never contain air bubbles, preventing water from reaching the necessary activation energy; all this, just to absorb a couple of carbon molecules. The same carbon that closes them, you see.

I can’t but feel humbled and overwhelmed by the ubiquitous beauty that exists and surrounds me. I feel grateful, and hopeful. Maybe the perfect world is not one we need to seek.

The wind, the wind rises, and the yellow bee awakes. The sun has painted the sky blue, colors hang as watercolor garlands. A farewell is, as the clock’s hands have decided that time it is. With the voice of the last sunlight, the bee’s wings follow Apollo’s call, flying their way to a new dawn.

By
~ Mariana García Soto
Teen Wildlife Ambassador

Posted by nvclkat nvclkat, August 04, 2021 21:20

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