My daily walk to the Post Office with Goldie always seems to yield something worth pondering. Ever since May, on through today, I have witnessed the wonder a “vacant” lot across the street from the post office provides. I put the word vacant in quotes because it is anything but empty, without merit, “Without content or occupant, not put to use, not lived in.” With apologies to Webster, this vacant lot does not qualify.
This lot is filled with the most wondrous array of wil...
My daily walk to the Post Office with Goldie always seems to yield something worth pondering. Ever since May, on through today, I have witnessed the wonder a “vacant” lot across the street from the post office provides. I put the word vacant in quotes because it is anything but empty, without merit, “Without content or occupant, not put to use, not lived in.” With apologies to Webster, this vacant lot does not qualify.
This lot is filled with the most wondrous array of wildflowers Texas has to offer. Most of which, I’m sorry to say, I do not know their names. But they are more than worthy of our consideration, and more specifically, our admiration and awe.
As spring gave way to summer, the vestiges of the wildflowers turned to grass. My gaze shifted to the post office grounds itself which are guarded by the only wall worth having -a wall of crape myrtle trees surrounding the post office proper.
I bring up this glimpse of beauty with the backdrop of the COVID-19 pandemic clearly in mind. We are in the midst of coronavirus burnout. Protesters are angry the government is restricting their “freedom.” If they want to protest, protest the treatment of black and brown Americans instead. Even our President, (I cannot call him my President), flaunts all the safeguards our scientists say will keep us from getting this deadly virus.
It is safe to say the divisions of our past have made this present crisis even more dangerous.
So, I offer the image of a vacant field of the humble wildflower to provide a respite from all the turmoil, crisis, and division we face.
And to offer one more bit of nature’s wisdom.
It was not just beauty lifting my soul and putting a spring in my step. It was how long they lasted. How persistent they were. They were just downright tenacious!
We will have this virus with us for years to come. But what is also true we can see nature’s beauty everywhere we look. It would be good if we had the eyes to see, the heart to appreciate it, and the mind to receive the message it sends.
Kyle resident Mark W Stoub is the author of two novels: “Blood Under the Altar” and “The Fifth Trumpet: Fire in the Blood.” And a new memoir, coming soon: “A Vagabond Pastor: Lost and Learning to Love it.”
