I had a camera once that could take pictures
with everything in focus, from front to back,
each detail crisp, sharp, and identifiable.
I can’t do that with my own eyes, as
I learned again this week, driving through
Duke Forest, the variegated veil of fall flavors
cascading down from the tree tops to street level.
I pulled to the side of the road and gazed into
one canyon of color, layers of gold and green,
of umbers and ochres, shades of life and death,
and I wished for my old camera to let me see
all of them at once. Instead, I had to settle
for my human view, choosing the near or
the far or the in-betweens, a leafy lesson
to remind me how hard it is to carry both
dreams and memories, or hope and duty;
that the journey to wholeness is less about
seeing everything clearly than seeing
clearly that everything has its season,
its fleeting moment to be in plain view.
Very well said. Always a joy to see a new post.