By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
I don’t think I will ever be able to stop being amazed by the simplest things in nature. Of course, we’re all awestruck by a mountain view or a thundering waterfall—those are the easy wonders. They require no real effort to appreciate. Even someone indifferent to jewelry can’t deny the beauty of a flawless diamond, its countless facets catching the light. Obvious brilliance is, well, obvious. You don’t have to think deeply to be impressed by grandeur on that scale.
And while I certainly adore the majestic, lately I find myself lingering over the small and unremarkable. I’m not sure if this is a getting-older thing or simply a being-generically-weird thing, but here I am—and lately, it’s happening all the time.
It started with the cotton field again. Yes, the same one I ramble about nearly every year. Sometimes they plant something else, but if I’m honest, even when they plant millet, it excites me more than is probably normal. I waited for ages to see those first tiny leaves appear in the vast field, and when they did, I was thrilled. Cotton has always fascinated me—after all, it’s hard to believe that fluffy white softness comes from a plant. I knew it did. I’d seen it many times. But the first time I pulled the poof from the boll, I’ll never forget how disconcerting it was to find seeds inside.
Right now, the cotton is blooming, which is just as intriguing as every other stage of the plant’s life. The blossoms open white, then gradually fade into darker shades of pink until, at last, they’re a deep, intense hot pink. Looking through the lush green leaves, I can see every stage at once—soft white, gentle blush, and vivid pink all within inches of each other. It’s like a little girl, armed with her full pink spectrum of confetti, danced through the field, scattering color as she went. I don’t know of many flowers outside this horticultural family that offer such a range of hues. It fascinates me every single time.
I don’t even have to look all the way to the field for beauty, though. Along the fence line, the barbed wire and posts are covered in the heart-shaped leaves of morning glory vines. They haven’t bloomed yet, but I’ve never seen their foliage so thick. It’s as if the entire length of the field has been swallowed up in green. The fence itself is invisible. Conveniently for me, this stretch runs right along the road I take to drive my daughter to school. I can’t wait for the morning when vivid trumpets of blue frame the lush cotton. I watch every day now, knowing that at any moment, my mornings could become even more glorious.
But the wonder doesn’t stop at that one field. A few nights ago, I stepped outside and saw the stars so bright that the Milky Way was clearly visible, a glowing cloud arching across the sky. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so defined. Though it was late, I went to get my daughter so she could see it. I called my mother too. My daughter was as awed as I was, and my mother stepped outside at her own home to revel in the same beauty.
And just this morning, I had another moment—right in my own backyard. Before sunrise, I stood outside listening to the quiet, as I often do in the early hours, when I heard an owl. We often hear and occasionally see a pair of hawks, but I don’t think I’d ever heard an owl at my home before. He wasn’t close—and for some reason I just knew he was a “he”—but his call carried through the darkness.
There’s something extraordinary about witnessing wild creatures simply living their lives, and being blessed to stand quietly in the middle of it. These moments remind me that even the tiniest part of the natural world is a piece of a vast, magnificent puzzle. Whether it’s the sound of an owl in the night or a vine curling around barbed wire, together they paint the forests, the fields, and the sky in all their wonder. It is every little piece of stained glass that completes the grand cathedral in which we are so blessed to live.
Prose and Possibilities 