Growing Up, In

When we were outside, we'd find ourselves face to face with a gravity-defiant sea of space, pushing us down into the surface of the earth. We'd call that lying down, ears touching the blades of grass that still managed to tickle us while their neighbours were flattened by the weight of our burgeoning craniums. That was our affectionate relationship with nature, our childish imprint upon the ground, it allowing us to be like children. And now, we seem to have grown into something different, older, aware of what we've done by how we see that our surroundings have bent to our wills.

They have allowed our whimsies to shape them, without strife. At times we were hurt, yes, when we pushed too far. Nature would be on its way, though, regardless of what we thought our fortress-building or sculptural selves could achieve. And I think, close to the ground, then, we were being reminded that we, too, are on that same course. We call it life. Nature doesn't call anything anything. And in the realisation is a joining of wills.

We learn to allow, ourselves. That's growth. Then the sea is our yonder. Miracles glow from its depths, our depths.