Progymnasmata

Spring, some years ago. . . .

As I watch my 10-month old daughter pluck a living leaf from the crab apple tree in our front yard. . . as I watch her fondle the now amputated and dying flesh of the tree, I see her open-mouthed face puzzle over this fading tissue, unsure of its use or purpose. She touches it, holds it, concerns herself over its texture, its edges, its softness.

She has killed this leaf. At her age, both acutely aware and blindly oblivious to her destructive role in the environment -- for a few moments it pained me to see my daughter as dealer of casual death. And yet, after those moments past, I saw my young child as a fellow human being who shares in a puzzle with me, a puzzle which I have never been able to solve in my own life: to learn of our world is to hold it in our hands too tightly, to understand, which leads to love, is not a peaceful course.

We are lucky if anything survives our nature.