Spring storms and dragonflies...

With the breaking of the drought here in Melbourne it seems like the world order has returned - at least the natural world order.  The actual world - the people world - is as nuts as ever.  But as I sat on the veranda last night watching the storm close in, listening to the thunder rolling closer and counting the seconds till the lightning cracked overhead, the way we did as kids, I felt such a sense of calm and contentment.

The drought here had upset not only the natural order of things but also my own ability to place myself into the natural geography of time.  For more than a decade I had to ask myself what season it was before I pruned.  Winter was warm, summer was warm, spring was warm, autumn was, well, autumn was autumn.  In reality  Autumn was the only season that had any discernible identity, with the leaves turning and pirouetting to the ground in regular sprays.

So last night seeing again a spring rain storm, as it was sooooo many years ago, re-polarised my internal compass. 

I sat on the cane couch and was accosted by the sound of the rain on the roof, the fine mist of spray wafting in the wind, the sound of birds roosting before the the storm got really bad.  My ears were ringing with the cacophony that was so loud I couldnt even hear the TV in the family room behind me.  As the light slowly dimmed and the world took on that eerie silver transluscence that somehow magically brings out all the vividness of the garden, I forgot that I even existed beyond that moment.  I just sat there.  For once my mind was quiet.  My mind is never quiet.  But just then it was.  And I knew that it was.  I felt so happy and calm.  I felt so content.  I watched the pretty finches with yellow feathers dancing and frolicking in the wind and wet, singing such incredible melodies that I wanted to cry.  For one second my mind did have a thought - I wished I had a telephoto lens so I could capture the moment. 

He was right next to the back door and didn't move for 2 days.

Then another miracle happened.  A dragonfly came out of nowhere and landed, not elegantly, on the coffee table my feet were propped on.  It was huge and although I am not afraid of them I had to resist the urge to pull away.  Not long ago another dragonfly had taken shelter under the veranda by the back door and stayed there for 2 days.  I wondered if this was the same little guy.  I watched it as it stood perfectly still.  Occassionally a gust of wind ruffled its wings and it seemed to hunker down.  It sat there for a few minutes and then, for no reason that I could fathom - took off into the wind and rain and disappeared into the gloom.  I silently wished it a safe journey.  I silently wished that my life was as simple as his seemed to be until I noticed one of the birds had dug out a worm from the mulch under the trees.  Then I was happy to be so high up in the food chain.

We humans are so full of ourselves all of the time.  We think that our lives are important, our problems are important and our achievements are important.  But the truth is that all our efforts are noticed by such a small proportion of the teeming life on this planet that we are individually insignificant.  What did that dragonfly know or care about me or my life.  The only impact I would have had on it is if I had moved my foot and startled it.  I wonder if it even registered my foot as a piece of living tissue or was I just providing a bit of shelter from the wind for a few moments while it rested.  And those birds didn't care how much I admired them or enjoyed their songs.  They needed some worms for their brood and had to get them before the storm got too wild.

I suddenly felt ALL of the burden and responsibility of a sentient species for its planet.  I read Tammy's blog on healthy and sustainable living and I cherry pick the things I think I can do - but in truth it is the things that are easy for me to do.  I wonder what the world would be like without my dragonfly and the yellow-feathered birds and the newly visiting blue-feathered birds.  I cringe at the fact that I don't even know the proper names of these birds.

My peaceful reverie ended as feelings of guilt and responsibility overwhelmed me.  I have a beautiful garden.  It is still young and recovering from the drought but it is welcoming to birds and insects.  But it is only one garden.  It is not enough.  Is it?

*****