Trees are my Teachers.
They have no choice in their birth, as do I.
Tree cannot move nearer to water, to a spot with better sun.
Tree cannot migrate south for the winter, or move over to give another crown some space.
Tree stands and grows mightily in the very spot where it was born.
Year in and year out, Tree is the best it can be, right where it is.
Tree is at peace with this.
Fish are my Teachers.
Trapped beneath the waters in their own beautiful world, they can never witness my own.
Most are trapped also in some impoundment. A lake, a pond. They can go nowhere.
If the water is low, the PH too high, Fish toughs it out.
Unable to get out and walk, or take to the air, Fish enjoys the beauty of his own world, and makes the best of what is before him.
In fact, he may revel in the fact that most of us will never see his world from his perspective.
Fish is at peace with this.
Birds are my Teachers.
Each sings his own song. Not because he has an opinion, but because he has a song to sing.
Bird ignores critics and all others, and sings mightily as best he knows how, for the love of singing.
Bird will often return to the same nest site year after year.
Bird flies. Bird could fly anywhere, yet stays right here and makes a home.
Comfort and familiarity, Bird declares “This is my home, and I will sing proudly of it.”
Bird is at peace with this.
Children are my Teachers.
With children, everything old is new again.
Children love boldly. Plant wet kisses right on your lips.
Stretch tiny arms around my neck and cling mightily.
Children laugh readily. When they see something funny.
When you tickle them. When they feel like laughing.
Children cry at the drop of a hat. Hearts are tender organs, after all.
As we age and harden our hearts against the cruel world, we reserve crying for only the “most important” occasions.
Children cry when they feel like crying, and just as quickly, they recover.
Children are at peace with this.
And the circle continues.