World of Wonders: In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks, and Other Astonishments

by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

The buntings know the North Star by heart, learn to look for it in their first summer of life, storing this knowledge to use years later when they first learn to migrate. How they must have spent hours gazing at the star during those nestling nights, peeking out from under their mother. What shines so strong holds them steady.

The narwhal taught me what it was like to see through sound what that boy—someone I would have called my friend until that day—really was.

Kids who, no matter what they learned from television or their own parents, would still reach out for my hand,

Everything else in my life is chaos: I am, of course, sleep-deprived, truly sleep-deprived, and the edges of my garden start to blur and shimmer as if near a gas flame.

Already he slips out of my arms with such ease. He has finally, finally given up his nocturnal life, and I almost miss it. I miss the winding of our bodies around each other, on those rare occasions when we finally did close our eyes, tangled in such heavy sleep. He is a jolly child, always moving.

This shared decrease in knowledge about the outdoors can’t be a coincidence.

And in that slowdown, you might think it’s a kind of love. And you’d be right.