Reaching for the Sun (My Garden)
Wandering across fruitful and hallowed ground;
Reliable growth stretches forth all around,
Representing predictable history;
But between the rows lie seeds of mystery.
The phenologist studies summers and springs
With little surprise at what each season brings.
But there’s something beyond the scientist’s view:
It’s the wonder beneath what we thought we knew.
We understand the physics of each sunrise,
And dawn’s open blooms come as no real surprise.
But how can cool cognition ever displace
The trusted assurance of Gaia‘s embrace?
On a walk through woods or a tall grassy field,
Why care for which facet of truth is revealed?
Must dreams retreat so that logic can abound,
Or science retreat when raw beauty is found?
No single perspective can contain the True;
I’ll just tend my garden and so, friend, should you.