Nature Sings

[Speaking of dandelions] They are little beacons of the it'll be okay, and if they had a soundtrack, it would be "O-o-o Child."

Ross Gay from his essay "Truly Overnight Sometimes It Seems"

I had a plan today to get back to Six Mile Cypress Slough, somewhere I haven't been since May, and decided I would go despite the 92% humidity. Right before I left, I read the Ross Gay essay noted above and I immediately knew I had a purpose: find plants that are singing a song.

Entering the slough, I felt an incredible amount of energy. I haven't been walking enough, so this felt like a real treat. Yes, it was muggy, but nothing I couldn't handle after living here for 26 years.

A Red Maple tree was the first to show up with a song:

Sing, sing a song

Make it simple to last your whole life long...

I walked deeper into the slough, and the next to sing out to me were a collection of Resurrection Ferns growing on the side of a Cypress tree. They were singing:

We are family
I've got all my sisters with me...

I walked the rest of the slough, 1.3 miles in all, and got back to my car dripping with sweat. I was feeling super inspired by this trip, and on the way home, I started thinking about the songs that were showing up. And that's when I realized there was a clear connection between them.

First, Ross Gay mentions "O-o-h Child" by the Five Stairsteps, one of the many songs that got me through my first year without Jim. I wrote about it on this blog post from October 18, 2024. 

https://helenbluespace.blogspot.com/2024/10/up-n-down.html

Next, I thought about the Carpenters' "Sing a Song." Not one I often think about, and when I do, I recall my brother Richie's 4th grade class singing it at his funeral in 1975.

Finally, "We are Family" of which I have no real personal connection. However, I remembered my friend Melody telling me that when she got together with her three sisters, they would sing this song. Sadly, Melody's sister Beth made her transition this past week.

Then I knew what was happening. Jim, Richie, and Beth are our angels and ancestors. They are always with us and as a reminder, sometimes nature sings their songs.

Voice

The louder the wind howled, the stronger their voices became, until their singing seemed to soften the blow of the storm.

-Terry Tempest Williams 

I've recently been making my way slowly through a new book by Terry Tempest Williams called The Glorians. If you're wondering what a glorian is, rest assured that it is not a word you would know, as it is one that came to Williams when she was watching an ant carrying a flower petal. She has determined a glorian is one of three things, or perhaps a combination of any of these:

an encounter

a message

anything that reveals the force of life

This has been deeply inspiring to me, and as I read each chapter, I grab onto some kind of message or meaning for me, then I reflect on it. I am about half way through the book, and today I realized I wanted to share what I wrote.

In a chapter called "Wind Song," Williams relates a tale of Harvard Divinity Students making a trip to Utah. One of the places they went were the Sun Tunnels. As described by Williams:

The Sun Tunnels are a remote piece of land art made by Nancy Holt...four concrete cylinders, eighteen feet in length and nine feet in diameter...arranged in an open cross formation aligned to frame the sun on the horizon during the summer and winter solstices.

While the students were there, a terrific sandstorm blew in with winds at 85 mph. The students wanted to stay, so they made their way into one of the tunnels where they sang until the storm called down. 

Combining this reading with the fact that Jim and I were married 40 years ago tomorrow, I wrote the following:

This final sentence (quoted above) spoke to me deeply. 

I sit on the cusp of our 40th wedding anniversary and 

all I can think is that Jim and I always raised our voices together 

against life's storms in order to soften them. 

And now I have found I've had to increase my own voice 

as his is silenced except in my heart. 

I have become the one who has to stand strong, seemingly alone.

But not really.