Wonder

Wonder

I wonder at times what he sees when gazing in the same direction as I. 

I wonder if he sees the fine white stripe on the edge of each corn plant leaf that defines for me the direction of the sun when I have not looked skywards to really know. 

I wonder if he sees the dragon flies that hover above the pond and how they so completely control every dimension of movement they desire to explore. 

I wonder if he sees the fine lace-like details of their oblong wings that emit so many hues of iridescent greens and blues, purples and yellows.

When I look at the tall grasses around the gentle waters of the little lake, I wonder if he sees, too, all the shades of green that define the cat tails, how because of all these hues I can see each plant as unique. 

I wonder if he marvels, as I do, at the swallow that rises and dives with such breathtaking skill to catch a little mosquito whilst soaring with such speed. 

I wonder whether he perceives the subtle changes in the warm breeze as it moves across his face gently lifting then laying back down a tendril of his hair upon his forehead.

Can he hear all the unique melodies of birds that provide the song of this meadow, the distinct trill-tweet of the red winged black birds that hang on marsh weeds lifting their red shoulder patches to reveal the intense yellow underneath.

Does he hear the meadow lark’s serenade over the tiny warbler’s lengthy chant?  

Does he perceive the little gurgle of pond water as a turtle slides quietly off floating deadwood and into the deep green waters, and can he see the sun’s rays define the concentric circles that radiate from that little splash until they reach the very center of the pond and disappear?

How can he see these things, hear these things, feel these things while his gaze is so squarely upon my form?  My eyes held slightly downwards, avoiding his glance, but ever so aware of his penetrating stare. 

I feel him looking at my soul, I feel him examining my thoughts, it is a warm, tender, overwhelmingly beautiful sensation, yet, I wonder what it is he sees.

Is he seeing all these wonders of this natural place as if on a movie screen playing in my head, is that how he is examining this world? 

Is he feeling the love I have for my meadow, not by exploring it with his own eyes, but by looking into mine? 

How is it that he can chose to look at my simple figure above the exquisite beauty all around us? 

What could he possibly see there that is more captivating than the azure sky, the ethereal clouds, the lush meadow grasses, the brilliantly colored wildflowers, the ripples on the pond, the hawk standing watch in the top, dead branches of that tree?

I wonder at times what he sees in me, why he remains vigilant at my side, what captivates his interest, when there is so much more than my imperfect shape, so much wild flawlessness all around us to inhale. 

I suspect I will never know about this man, never fully understand his gaze, his desires, his wishes, nor how I could be part of his thoughts. 

But, for now, I will allow his warmth to touch my skin, enter my body, touch my soul, as the radiant sun shines gently upon us both.

 

copyright 1997