The world looks new today, each thing I see set in
Breathtaking, stark relief to every other thing:
A lone pine, needles bristling new-green atop
A slender trunk, a nonconformist among live oaks
That toss vibrant-jade leafy heads against a cloudless sky.
The colors are vivid, almost painful, chasing my eye
Into the lacy shadows beneath the trees, where trunks
Fade to black and grass lies in deep, olive-gray pools.
But the day is too alive; I can’t linger in the mysteries
Under the trees. Beneath a brilliant noonday sun,
The lamppost to my left drops a sharp silhouette, like
An exclamation point etched on the broad, pebbled
Sidewalk that rises and falls with the ground’s gentle swell.
The sandy path angling to meet the sidewalk glitters
And winks, and every small, creamy stone stands out.
Here and there, the arrowed spoor of running shoes.
In the grass at my feet, a tiny, blue-black fly explores
On heart-shaped wings, flitting from one ragged
Clump to another as if life’s answer rested in the tuft
Next door; she takes no notice at of the red-brown ant,
Tinier yet, hurrying up one stem and down the next, on his
Busy forced march to who knows where. Does the
World look new to those two? Does this day’s light
Reach down, setting the world ablaze at ground level?
A mocking bird dances across a picnic table battered
Black and gray, splintered by Texas weather. The
Bird cocks her head, first this way, then that, as she
Hops back and forth, searching for a forgotten crumb
Or maybe a nice, juicy bug. There! A fat black spider crabs
For the safety tucked between the boards. My Lady Bird
Stabs, misses, stabs again. Got’cha! She mounts into
The sky, white-banded wings spread in jubilant flight.
The air is alive with sound, although it seems distant:
The hollow-breasted, musical cooing of the dove,
The far-off rumble and growl of heavy machinery,
The cackle and shriek of cocky blue-black grackles,
The tiny lilting trill of the sparrow, the rushing swish of tires
Trailing cars that flash and glint between the trees
As they cruise down Houston. I hear each noise and
Yet, I hear none of them. Today’s song is of a piece.
“Can’t you see it?” I think toward a young man as he
Hums by on his bike; his t-shirt is startlingly white.
“Do you feel the fresh breeze kiss your face? Don’t
You want to pause your headlong flight down that hill,
Just for a heartbeat, just long enough to taste, to relish the
Sheer brilliance of this day?” Is Business Math the
Only thing on his mind? Or is it someone’s face?
He moves through the day as if it didn’t glisten at all.
So does the girl wearing a cherry-red sweat suit and
A black baseball cap pulled low over blond hair.
Shoulders forward – against the weight of a dark
Backpack or against the day’s shining allure or the
Playful wind that threatens to snatch off that cap and toss
Her hair, to send it playing around her averted face?
Whatever the reason, she doggedly plods down the
Path apparently unaware of this day among days.
All at once I realize that the ability to see like I’m seeing
Is a gift. Yes, this is the way man is meant to see,
But seldom does. Days, brightly colored or swathed
In misty gray, all proclaim the glory of Him Who made
Them. “Do you see, Child? This is Who I am. I am Beauty.
I am Life. I am the Hope for a new day, a day when the
World is so perfect, your heart aches just to look at it.”
O taste and see, sings my heart, that the Lord is good.
