The Universe at My Feet

From the introduction:

Many summers ago, I found myself following a gutter for several blocks in the residential neighborhood of a small Colorado town. It was a pleasure to see what the rain had left the night before, and it brought back memories from my childhood.

As a kid, the gutter in front of our house was the best playground in the world.
In summer, we built dams of sand and mud and were proud of the reservoirs they created. In winter, I got down on my hands and knees to collect thin crystals of ice that formed there in the mornings. I carefully placed them in a cigar box that I then brought to my mother. Indulging me, she kindly stored them in the freezer, which existed in another realm far above my head. Those beautiful ice forms were treasures I wanted to preserve forever.

As children we exist close to the ground. It is our world, a realm of wondrous things. Mysterious pebbles, tiny plants, muddy puddles. It is here that we learn to navigate reality. Then as we grow older and enter adulthood, the ground recedes from our awareness and memory. We hardly notice it. We have more important things to attend to now.

Yet an ever-changing universe—rich in form, color, texture, and transitory arrangements—is always at our feet. Markings are painted and fade; puddles appear and disappear; footprints are left behind; surfaces accumulate layers and age. And then there are the leaves—those wistful leaves. Scattered by the wind, they come to rest in what my teacher once described as “delicate formations,” before they are once again swept away, eventually to lose color, decompose, and return to the earth. Such tender moments remind us of the fleeting nature of our own existence.