1. How can you say That you don’t care for distortion? Haven’t you seen How the sun distorts in the sky Every morning and every night? Its color is changed, Often almost beyond recognition. 2. At the start of each day, The sun leaps out of the skyline Like a fish Leaping wildly As it bursts out of the still water. As the day comes to a close, then again, The steadfast white flame of our kindred star Sinks and falls back into the puddle of pastel colors That divides day and night on the horizon And returns to where it began. Every morning and every evening, The blast of this grand collision Between day and night Sprays an eruption of pigment All across our vast, glass atmosphere— And each time, The world looks on this freeform masterpiece With inexhaustible curiosity and delight As the colors haphazardly burst, blend, And drip down the great dome window That surrounds this strange and beautiful terrarium. 2. How can you say That you don’t care for distortion?— That you’d rather see everything In absolute, clean-cut, crystal clarity?— Do you honestly dream Of an air-tight cosmos Where every facet— Every detail, procedure, and belief Is fixed and verified with indisputable accuracy? But God felt so compelled To distort the daylight At sunset and sunrise That he placed this flower— This offspring of bended starlight In every sky for all time As a greeting and farewell To every living thing Born to share in and witness Another day in existence. 3. This same distortion Sweeps chaotic, perennial brush strokes Across the waning world in autumn. As summer comes to a close, The lush, verdant symphony of life Changes tone dramatically— But rather than a sorrowful song, The funeral hymn of nature Descends upon us each year Like a New Orleans parade, Tossing bright yellow, orange, and red confetti everywhere And filling the crisp air with the scent and sound Of unreserved gratitude— With outrageous and outspoken thankfulness To the Heart of life for the gift of living. See how the grand, green cathedral of trees transform. The leaves— the children of spring And the inheritors and stewards of summer— All at once begin preparing For their final flight. But look— Do they choose To simply and solemnly Fade into obscurity— From green into gray? No, the truth is, in actuality, Far more inspiring: They have saved their greatest display For this day. They have all together resisted The temptation of bitter resignation And have chosen, instead, To not slip away out of sight Until they have burned More passionately and more brilliantly Than ever before. (Isn’t it astonishing, too— That nature has played this one refrain As long as the living have existed And yet we still find it so difficult To accept the obvious lesson Of her bright and thankful song?) 4. It’s true, the steady-going midday sun is good and beautiful, But I don’t believe it’s a mistake that both the beginning and end of each day Are celebrated by all of nature with wild flourishes of mangled light and color, The same way any of us come together to celebrate a life born or lost. And there doesn’t seem to be much reason, either, To believe that distortion is purely destructive, Or even that destruction is always so ugly.
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