I wonder what part of me it is, the creative, spiritual, or innocence, that beckons at the same time I look out of a window, not looking at all, but inside of my head, thinking thoughts that bring me to tears. Desperate to control the outcome, and rearrange what has past. Then in a split-second interruption occurs. I see what’s outside the window, outside of me. Wow, I say aloud, stopped in my tracks—splendid beauty! I must capture nature’s perfect story, its thoughts perhaps. Suddenly, I realize all of my parts are on loan and in unison with the Creator, asking I cast the fragile and human, limited ego aside. Dry your eyes. Trust everything is evolving as it should. See the tree rooted in nourishment. Upright, forming intricate branches—each having gone through rough, barren winter, the hopeful new birth of spring, joyous, playful summer, sprouting blooms of love in color, and in fall surrendering its leaves. I am witness to the miracle of existence. Every second, season, choreographed to perfection. I, a naked bud.
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Photography by Maria DellaPorte
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