It was drizzling outside this morning as I was writing my last blog post. That photo was taken several days before. This one was taken a half hour ago, under a gunmetal grey sky, to the accompaniment of the music of a thousand raindrops falling — even though the rain had stopped. The mosquitoes were out in force. The clouds were swirling ominously. No birds were singing yet.
I was drawn to the tee-pee we built for cucumber and cardinal climber to share. Cardinal climber has long since reached the top and spilled over in a cacophony of seeking tendrils. My affectionate mental nickname for this development is “mophead,” and I would long since have shared it with you, if I could. But I cannot manage to capture the beauty-in-motion that is mophead with a still photograph. For one thing, you need to experience the tendrils swaying to the same rhythm but in all different directions. For another, no photo could capture the way they reach for you, seeming to love to pat your head as you pass, or softly caressing your shoulder as you reach to pluck a cucumber.
And everyone needs to experience that vine wearing its first three tiny blossoms — it’s only three dots of scarlet in a green, green landscape, and yet somehow the whole thing is on fire and attracting a stream of ruby-throated hummingbirds, chirping and flashing in the sun.
But as I stood beneath the swaying mophead a little while ago, I could not stop staring at this new baby cucumber. I’d almost swear I could see it vibrating with life, and yet it never dislodged a single clinging drop. I looked so deeply that time stopped, and I sank into a moment of pure joy.
I wish you a moment like that today. Who knows where it will surprise you?