From my personal journal, September 15, 2016, expressing gratitude for being, and for being blessed.
My walk in the foothills this morning was blessed with glowing, back-lit wildflower colors—yellow, gold, blue, purple, white, red, and even maroon, if you include the prickly pears. But in this challenging environment, my favorite color—in all seasons—is green. Brave green.
On hard, dry dirt or from cracks in boulders, the force that wants to turn sunlight, earth and water into life is quietly persistent. Extravagant perhaps. Impractical perhaps. But determined.
At this altitude in the foothills, there are no Pinon Pines. The “trees” here are scrub Oaks and Junipers. Pinons don't usually survive until a higher level. But for years now I've watched a small pinon just off the trail, in the eastside shadow of a huge boulder. It's protected from the hottest afternoon sun, and it may benefit from channeling of rainwater by the rock, and from shaded snowmelt. I think of it like a sapling because of its small size, but I've admired it for years, occasionally sharing my drinking water with it in dry times, and using rocks to smash worms that almost killed it.
It is for me a ritualistic reminder to be grateful not only for the glorious colors of success and fulfillment, but for life itself. Not just the “fruit” that a plant may give, but its very existence. Its “brave green.”
I think my life's a little like that of the Pinon. I seem out of place in this world. I'm a “creative,” which means that I'm suspect for not contributing tangibly. My love of the young—especially boys—is likely seen as perversion and predation. It's an incurable compulsion alright. To celebrate beauty and wonder—compassionately, not manipulatively. To validate and nurture—in ways that heal, not hurt.
All life passes, but I'm grateful to have landed in a place where I've been protected and nurtured, like the Pinon. Before I go, I hope to return the favor to the “brave green” life around me—be it plant, animal or human.