Oh summer is such a generous thing.
The above line from Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s poem “In Crepuscular Light” caught my attention but first I had to satisfy my curiosity about the word “crepuscular.” It isn’t something on the tip of my tongue every day. The computer’s quick-go-find-a-synonym offered nothing. Not surprising. Turning to a hardcover dictionary I learned that “crepuscular” refers to twilight or dusk. What I want to dwell on here, though, is the generosity of summer. This season radiates massive amounts of light. We are currently receiving an overdose of it with heat, humidity, and damaging thunderstorms. Still, I am mostly an avid receiver of this season’s bounty. Not long ago as I walked through a quiet rain in the woods, my eyes beheld wildflowers galore, including bright blue chicory, lavender crown vetch, and gangly, golden clover. Birds gave their best cheers with individual cheeps and chirps, including a Magnolia warbler, the first I’d ever sighted.
But what enthralled me was something I’d not found in those woods before: pink blossomed, tender-lipped sweet peas. These delicate plants vined through the other wildflowers, standing out in their beauty like ballerinas with soft tutus. I absolutely adored those lovely sweet peas. The next day I went back there, ready to behold them again. Imagine my utter dismay when I arrived at that spot in the woods and saw… NOTHING… except four inches of torn green above the ground. The park staff had completely mown off the foliage, including every single one of those delicate flowers.
As first I stood there in disbelief, angered at human ignorance and disregard. Then I felt just plain sad. I pulled in my grief after a while and told myself that how I felt was a small thing, miniscule compared to the thousands of parents in Gaza grieving for their children, young, delicate life mown down by deadly bombs. No doubt, if the park staff were questioned, they would object, “We were just doing our job.”—like Israeli bombers who would probably attempt to defend their actions by saying “We were just following orders.”
Grief in any form and size is to be acknowledged, but mine is a thimbleful compared to that of Palestinian parents with children blown apart, the paralyzing sorrow of Israelis waiting for their hostage-taken relatives to be freed, or a friend who soon commemorates the first anniversary of her husband’s death. I am reminded that no matter how generous summer might be with the abundance of beauty and fruitfulness, there will always be something lacking. The same with our daily lives. We are rarely allowed to experience generosity without also feeling some deprivation. We seldom dwell with a sense of fullness without being reminded of some sort of hollowness. Such is the current situation of life on our planet where even if our personal life sails along smoothly, we can easily be swept into the wider news of the world’s natural disasters and human disregard.
Summertime grants us an opportunity to be aware of its amazing abundance in varied forms while also accepting the lament of emptiness pressing upon our hearts. As our hurried pace takes us through these light-filled months, may we maintain a balance between these two existent dimensions so prevalent in most people’s lives.
Abundant peace,
Joyce Rupp
P.s. (There’s a photo of the pink sweet peas on my Instagram page and also on FaceBook)
