local to local
A mile and a half walk brings me to the Martinsdale Canal. A herd of sheep grazes nearby; the shepherd’s camper is invisible behind a rise. On the walk I considered one of Dillard’s metaphors. It is the quote of an idea from Huston Smith. We are all like snow flakes… the sea evaporates water, clouds build and loose water in snowflakes, which dissolve and go the sea... repeat. I think we usually focus on the snowflake moment of this story... not necessarily on our unique patterned and sparkling form, but on the chance that someone will catch us, the beautiful snowflake, on an outstretched finger and marvel for a moment at our intense beauty. It is only one pinpoint of a moment in a bigger story, a story that we have such difficulty embracing... and yet, is the individual snowflake any more beautiful than the snowing sky or the white glittering snow cover or even the entire miraculous process?