I walk outback prit-near every evening at sunset. Stand in the back-forty and look at the hill—it’s about a mile away—covered in lush green trees; stretched out to form an elevated horizon. I look up to see what cloud formations are in-store for me: swirls, fluffy, scarce, sometimes a combination. Then I check to see which colours were selected; usually they’re shades of orange, red, pink and gold but you can’t count anything out—some pretty strange things can happen in a Cressy sky.
The sun is always behind the hill but not the colours; sometimes they’re stretched out, relaxing across the western sky, and sometimes they’re playfully bouncing off the clouds—it’s different every time, even changing while you watch.
It reminds me a bit of when I lived in Toronto and went to a café in The Beach area; they had photos on the walls: vast skies and sunsets. Those photos were going for $400 and up. I think how lucky I am to get to see it live every evening—for free. Then I listen to the wind, the birds, the lake in the distance and think of the Solitude CDs I used to see in the stores; no matter how much you spend on your sound system, they won’t measure up to the real thing.
Inhaling the fresh country air (which no air freshener can come close to) I think of what one of the saints said, though I can’t recall which one, or what the exact quote was, but to paraphrase, “You can see the masterwork, why wouldn’t you recognize the artist behind it?”
I look around admiring every brush stroke and taking delight in every note that plays in the background.
It kind of makes me wonder what earth would be like if the only thing we saw as perfect was nature’s delicate balance and we spent our lives as caretakers of the garden: learning, sharing, shaping, interpreting but without disturbing, instead remaining in a state-of-wonder, constant in our awe and appreciation for the beauty that we inherited and that will hopefully still surround us for generations to come.
Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2009. All rights reserved.