Austin — Thank you to whoever first thought to preserve patches of green inside cities. It’s easy to think that little parks are low on the continuum of wild, dioramas of “real” nature, places for perceived respite from hard surfaces. But that’s because we don’t walk slowly enough.
Thanks to the 100-degree heat tonight, I do walk slowly and my attention is drawn to the uniqueness of each creation. A tree is only a tree until it’s fully beheld. Then it becomes nature itself, miraculous, endless.
Halfway into my 15 minutes, I take in one particular oak, struck by the long languid curve of one of its two main trunks, as if it were gracefully bending for a cool drink. Yet this gesture is one made not in response to today’s heat, but by its interaction with ten thousand days.
I sing with this tree in frame, a gentle song praising the fractal perfection of nature.