“Pale, then enkindled,/light/ advancing,/emblazoning/ summits of palm and pine,/the dew/lingering,/scripture of/scintillas.” – Denise Levertov, “In California: Morning, Evening, Late January”
Oh, it is the tiniest of things that do not change. The atom. The electron. The tiny dew on leaves in the morning. The palest of sun rise light on a winter’s day in January in the desert. The tap tap tap of a woodpecker on mesquite bark. The crawling of a lady bug along the leaf of the ironwood. The flap of a butterfly wing in the winter’s cool air as the sun hits its fragile body. It is the tiniest of things that never change.