I’m writing about how the hot, humid morning pulled Asha and me to the river …
about zigzagging between shallow water and dry islands in the riverbed, now green with plants
about Allegheny Monkey Flower’s purple-blue petals
about tracks in the mud and sand, telling of other visitors
about a crayfish exoskeleton floating among the rocks, and minnows swimming away from us
about Louisiana Waterthrush foraging in the shadows and Bank Swallows’ nests in the walled edges of the river channel
… when I’m interrupted by my inner critic, “What’s the point you’re trying to make? A list isn’t enough.”
I put down my pen and stare out the window, remembering the joy of the walk and feeling the desire to share — yet silenced by this question.
A day or two or three later, on another walk, answers come:
The point is slowing down.
The point is paying attention and becoming curious.
The point is noticing the beauty of this earth, this place and opening to the delight in the noticing.
And that’s not only more than enough, it’s essential.
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