
Love of the World It is not about good or bad, convenient or sorrowful, terrifying or relaxing. It is about being alive to secret languages, to the silence amidst the noise. It is about including all. My love of the world is roused by the smallest things, by minute experiences. Witnessing the crow across the street swoop from the neighbor’s live oak down to the asphalt close to the curb – she takes a bath in the rushing stream created by the atmospheric river. This morning, storming and raining, the world densely grey and mysterious, unseen activities escape the human eye. From my living room, I can sense the crow’s movements echoing in my own body. Dunking the head into the stream, wiggling, coming up and shaking, taking a whole-body plunge, beating wings rapidly, coming up, shaking off, doing this a few more times, then swooping up back into tree. It does not get any better. Delicious. Secret bathing. I have done so in woods. Here nobody was watching or interr...