Calling

Calling Outside my window an enormous raindrop hangs from the tip of a hemlock branch and turns the morning sun to rainbow one color at a time as I move my head, tilt my view, strangely drawn to make it disappear like a child who does not understand that what is hidden still exists. The persistent raindrop will not vanish. She sparkles, showing me every color for every move I make. And this is the way of the earth over and over offering her beauty even as we destroy she replants, struggles again to capture our attention, like a mother at cliff's edge who calls and calls the lost child's name. —G. Leigh Wilkerson 50 ...