Calves

Nothing magnifies the great wheel like calving season. Driving north on Interstate 5 the other day, enjoying the fields that overnight (it seemed) awoke wearing emerald green, I noticed a pasture bedazzled with cows, and more than cows, calves—dozens of them.

Oh, what a sight! Taut bundles of energy, not much bigger than big dogs, they leaped and tumbled, darted in diverse directions as if coaxed by invisible play guides, butted heads, and eagerly burrowed under their mothers for milk. A happy tribe, a blessed season.

But even the gray expanse of winter and the laying in are blessed. It's all in how I look at it; it's all in how I see. So, while it lasts, I'll pause for a few moments when I'm blessed by the new cows with their energy and divine eyes, and I'll be thankful for them. I'll wish them well on their journeys across the green fields of spring and early summer, the yellow fields to come.

Ever-changing, I myself am crossing an ever-changing landscape in ever-changing weather. The conditions are always surprising, even when we see them coming, when we see them changing. Perhaps surprising is too easy, though. Maybe it's wonder. Yes, that's the word. May I cultivate my capacity for wonder. May I call it up alchemically, may I nurture it spiritually, and may you do the same.