Jewels In The Night

Let this be a little diversion. Perhaps diversions from the serious task I've set before myself – addressing poverty – should not be permitted. But even the most serious enterprise requires a recess. I've often opined that the U.S. Congress should be forced to recess twice daily, with each representative and senator sent out to the playground for mandatory carousel time. Can you imagine how different things might be if we all had swing-sets in our yards, and at work? Oh, to have required teeter-totter time (that's see-saw time, for those of you unfamiliar with such colloquialisms)!

Two nights ago, I went outside into the moonless night (the waxing crescent had already fallen below the horizon), wearing my headlamp. As I gamboled about the meadow, I kept spotting little jewels in the grasses, little flecks of brilliant, clear vibrancy. I would spot these gems every dozen or so feet: There's one beneath the blueberry bush! There's another in the fallen maple leaves! Here's one aside the boulder! Some I'd see at a glance, disappearing if I'd move more than a tiny bit, only to reappear if I'd move just so.

At first I thought they were drops of dew, though I knew that such random droplets were unlikely considering the warmth of the night air. Besides, dew would be everywhere, consistent, and not hither and yon. Next I thought they were fireflies settled for the night, though these lights were brighter, clearer, sharper than the fuzzy phosphorescence of that common, mid-summer bug. With that, I turned off my headlamp and – bing! I had a clue.

With the lamp turned on again and after several minutes of half-minding these little beams, I finally decided to get a closer look. And what do you think I found?

I found that in every instance what I was seeing was utterly new to me. I was seeing spiders' eyes.

My head is still spinning.

Enjoy the day, the earth, the invisible power of breath.

Peace,

BG

[The photo was taken in 1985 with the camera of a childhood friend. It was taken during a lunch break when the two of us were painting a white picket fence in a tiny New Hampshire village. It is the first picture I ever took of flowers. Eventually, my dear friend, apparently recognizing that I had an "eye" for things photographic, bought me a camera of my own (a Canon AE-1P). Less than two years after this picture was taken, I was the staff photographer at a newspaper. Strange how things work. I do know this: the original image was made on Kodachrome 64. And there is one valuable lesson hidden behind the history of this picture: Whatever dollar amount you think is a fair price to charge for painting a picket fence, quadruple that figure.]