Ancient Scrolls

Looking back, if I think of each insect and bird, each leaf and handful of soil, each mountaintop and white puffy cloud as an ancient scroll waiting to be read, then my daily childhood surroundings on the farm might be seen as a kind of living, breathing Library of Alexandria. And I had it all at my disposal without a single bit of advertising — no pop-up ads, unless they were jackrabbits; no spam, no opinion stated as fact, only genuine, meaningful content. Every natural distraction contributed to a deeper love and fuller understanding of the whole; and every natural attraction contributed to the understanding of myself. A walk through the vineyard in April or May, before the dust was on and when the leaves were still aglow with their tart emerald shine, might take an hour or a day — there was no need to tell. It was learning without studying, growth and understanding through gradual absorption. It was powerful medicine with no dangerous side-effects. It was life without needing a reason to live. Joy was as simple as breathing. Billy? Come in now, it’s supper-time!

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