Of Gwenda

 

   Once again the stars blew the window open, and that smallest star of all called out:

“Peter!”

Then Peter knew that there was not a moment to lose. “Come,” he cried imperiously, and soared out at once into the night, followed by John and Michael and Wendy.

–– J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Once upon a time, in the open palm of a plum tree, behind the house, beside the graves, a young girl sat with open book, staring through word windows into realms of wonder.

Her name was Gwenda. She grew up, as she knew she must. For she knew “all children, except one, grow up.” She became woman, wife, mother, and grandmother. She may have closed those windows briefly for more pressing matters, but she opened and peered through them again. Then, to the betterment of the waking world, she shared what she saw. For Gwenda had the second sight of a storyteller. She saw stories in ways no others do. She shared those stories in ways no others had. We listened and learned to see anew the storied realms she came to know so well. Like Wendy Darling, she told stories to us lost children and adults.

Then one day she began to tell the stories she saw through the windows before her desk:

Moon, full to bursting, caught in the dogwood tree, makes a path on dark water, pointing back at itself.

One light in a window across the lake, someone else is awake.

—–

The sky! On fire! Inflamed by that great star that holy writ and scientists say will do us in but now, fills the canvas of early morning with magenta, scarlet , orange and yellow.

—--

Robin calls: chirrup, chirrdown chirrup chirrdown

on and on without stopping 

Yesterday the Carbon Monoxide alarm went off beep...beep...beep... beep

on and on without stopping

One says wake up it's a beautiful day

the other: Value your life. Yes.

—--

I looked at the leaf of a silver bell tree. Half as big as my little fingernail. And that leaf contains...oh, yes, an epidermis that defends, shields, and protects from bacteria, insects and all other pests. And in the leaf's kitchen are the palisade mesophyll that deal with gas and that's fitting. The veins contain vessels...tiny boats... that tote food, water, and minerals. (Sounds a lot like our innards. We have what heals as well as harms inside.) I'm not fooling, all of this is really going on in every leaf appearing this spring. Seems like you could hear it. We should have a full symphony orchestra playing the Hallelujah Chorus just for the trees.

—--

The wood warblers are back. I heard

one singing zoo zee zeezeezee. The same

repeatable line like the Robin's chirrup over and over

coming from the tops of the white pine tree.

This one in my pine tree is a black throated green.

–––

She spoke to us from ordinary windows and revealed a world of wonder. Her voice, sonorous and sweet, became a daily missive in written words. We, who once listened with eager ears, then listened with open eyes.

She enriched our hearts, our minds, our world.

Then the stars blew the window open… “Come,” she cried imperiously, and soared out at once into the night…

And we will come. In time. She showed us the way:

Second star on the right and straight on until morning.