The Hum of Small Things

I keep a small, dried sprig of lavender pressed between the pages of a ledger from 1954. It has lost its scent, and the purple hue has faded into the color of dust, yet it remains a heavy anchor to a summer I never lived. There is a quiet, persistent labor in the way nature occupies the margins of our lives, working in rhythms we are often too hurried to hear. We walk past the frantic, golden industry of the garden, forgetting that the world is held together by these tiny, vibrating engines. To notice the small is to admit that we are not the center of the narrative, but merely guests in a house built by wings and patience. When the weight of the day feels too large, I look at that brittle sprig and wonder if we have forgotten how to be still enough to witness the work that sustains us. What would we hear if we finally stopped to listen to the silence between the heartbeats of the earth?

Luis Alberto Poma Criollo has taken this beautiful image titled Always alert. It captures that same sense of vital, quiet industry that I find in my old ledger. Does it make you want to step outside and listen to the garden today?