Nature doesn’t take more than it needs. When it rains, the drops are welcomed for what they are. Used up quietly. Sunshine is thanked in the way leaves warm to green and birds chime at daybreak. Nature waits and blooms and fades, pushing into or pulling against a river’s current or sandy soil. Nature finds a way to have enough.
As we age, perhaps we become more like the stones and the leaves, understanding needs to be substantial, yet few. Perhaps we come to a day when we are struck by the idea that we need not be voracious in our wants like a wild fire. Instead of grasping for more more more, we simply want enough of something small.
We are inherently designed to need that which nurtures our roots. It’s in a friend who pauses to see pain beneath banter or strength between shaky breaths. It’s the resonant voice of someone saying we won’t be abandoned for being difficult, different, or uncertain. We want gentle instead of urgent. We want laughter that vibrates into our bones. A reach out to say “How is that thing going that has been so hard for you?” or “Hey, I really love how you…..” and “If you want to do it, I’m going to be beside you when you do.”
In this, we become sturdy limbs bearing weight, fruit. We may break, like an old boulder, split by heavy years to make way for tendrils of new growth but always the light gets to the dark. We become a bloom that gifts color.
There are days when leaves, stones, rivers, must shift, find a new source or place. And so they do, never gulping and begging, but carefully changing shape until they can again know their purpose.