Even here something blooms

Cruelty is difficult to understand and suffering that serves no purpose is equally mysterious. If we imagine a world capable of containing such things, a world governed by harshness and struggle, we encounter another puzzle: the sudden appearance of brightness and power, like a song rising unexpectedly from the darkest place. Unless people throughout history and across every culture have somehow been deceived by the same illusion, there seems to be something real about beauty: a kind of grace that exists without needing to justify itself. About five years ago, I witnessed a mockingbird descend directly from the roof gutter of a four-storey building. It seemed completely spontaneous and unconcerned, as natural and effortless as the opening of a plant or the first spark of a flame. The bird simply stepped into empty space and began to fall. Its wings remained tucked against its body, almost as though it were perched on a branch and singing rather than plunging toward the ground. It was dropping faster and faster, accelerating through the air until just before it might have struck the earth, it slowly and deliberately opened its wings. The white markings beneath them appeared, its broad tail spread out, and suddenly the fall became a graceful glide. The bird landed lightly on the grass. I had just come around the corner when I noticed it. No one else was there to witness what had happened. That made me think about the old philosophical question of whether a tree makes a sound when it falls in an empty forest. Perhaps the answer is that beauty and grace do not depend on someone being there to notice them. They can happen whether or not anyone is watching. The least we can do is try to be there.