We are enamored with the quest for unconditionally reciprocated love. The idea of some measure of affection given back for what is doled out. The barter--bits of affection for pieces of adoration. It is--I think--what we all need. We crave the meadowlark's ringing song; desire the greening of spring from our sun-starved souls down to our bare-toed roots. We seek the winding path and wander until we find the sweet spots--blackwater cypress swamp, tallgrass prairie sweep; the place where moonlight glancing off of tide-slicked stones made you weep. We look for measures of love and some forest-dwelling thrush heaps it on us in self-harmonizing sonata. Marvel at the migratory sojourns of birds. Revel in the blooming expanses of wildflowers. Sink your heart deep into the rhythm of buzzing bees. Find hope in the re-leafed canopies of the tallest trees. Wind and water; storm and surf-they can move us to other ends. Therein is the turn on. The honey sweet seduction. Nature asks only that we notice-- a sunrise here--a sunset there. The surge--that overwhelming inexplicable thing in a swallow's joyous flight or the dawning of new light that melds heart and head into sensual soul in that moment of truly seeing --that is love.
