SMALL, GOOD THINGS
SMALL, GOOD THINGS: For three of the past four weeks, I have been mostly in the wilds. In valleys and forests, beside lakeshores and under big trees. I’ve been guiding and facilitating, introducing folks to wildflowers and streams and songbirds. We’ve watched the evening sky-dance of the woodcock, heard the brilliant ‘drink-your-tea’ song of the towhee, observed echo-blue butterflies on a spring prairie, and bent to catch the sweetness of Canada mayflower. We have, in other words, had the great pleasure of meeting many small and good things of the world.
It is hard work, sometimes, arranging logistics and travels, dealing with weather, being aware of the needs and troubles of participants, who may be a little anxious and far from home. But mostly it has been, as always, a fine and lovely thing, spending time in the woods with people who want to walk the trails, to see, and hear, and learn. And as we walk, and look, and listen, being surrounded by so many small and good things is a tonic. Away from chaos we are nurtured by life, and growth, and an ancient world that makes sense. It is the world in which we evolved.
And then we came home.
And found that chaos still reigns. That instead of being surrounded by ancient truths, growing out of the earth itself, we are surrounded lies, growing out of the grossly misshapen and distorted ego of one deeply flawed man—who wants to be a king—and by all the lost, needy, ignorant and bewildered souls who follow and enable him. Or if not lost and needy, then simply greedy—for power, for money, for a sniff of fame. The shock to the system is profound. The contrast between one world and the other disorienting. As the lies themselves, swarming like carrion flies, are meant to be disorienting. Overwhelming.
Words fail, of course. Billions of gallons of metaphorical ink have been spilled trying to explain, to understand, to counter, to deal with this man and his ‘movement’ of destruction and nihilism. I’ve spilled my share, and I’ll spill more—for I feel a sense of duty as a citizen. Yet it seems so often that words fail.
In the forest, under the big trees, in the company of wildflowers, no words are necessary. And if they come they come gently, in the context of belonging. Belonging to a world in which small, good things still have value, and meaning. But such things—small and large—wild and free—are under attack. Daily and hourly. People—good people— are under attack, threatened with the loss of nearly everything they hold dear. And so the words must be deployed and the actions that go with them. Words of resistance, of outrage, of betrayal.
I will write some of them. And other, better writers will write more. And we will stand up. And we will fight with whatever tools we have. And we will continue to believe, even when we doubt. For indeed we must believe in the abiding reality and power of small, good things in this world. A smile, a truth, a kindness, a wildflower. And in the strength and courage of the people who love them.
This is my newest Substack post. Please subscribe to my there at Notes From The Campfire@douglaswoodauthor