In Praise of My Planet

I sit here every day, watching the natural world outside the one window I have. The seedpods on the redbud tree have nearly matured and will start drying soon. I have watched this tree grow taller with age and soon the ends of its branches will grow leaves out of sight of where I sit.

For now, I try to learn lessons from the tree. Earlier this year, small larvae or caterpillars were chewing the leaves of the tree.

Does a tree scream in the scent world? I wonder.

Or do birds know to visit the redbud tree in springtime to enjoy delicious, nutritious protein meals made of insects in one stage of growth?

Or is it a bit of both? Maybe the birds are conditioned to visit the tree because the smell of eaten leaves attracts their attention and then they find the insect larvae sitting there like food on a plate.

In any case, I see no more insect larvae. I only see the tree waving in the wind, its holey and half-eaten leaves providing miniature views of the trees, birds, bees, and bugs beyond. And for some reason, I smell freshly-cut grass, the scent I associate with the color green and the word chlorophyll, like the smell of iron I associate with the color red and the word blood I imagine when I see a cut in human flesh oozing out liquid.

I may be cut off from nature but I am still part of it while sitting here in this wooden box with a couple of squares of glass cut into one wall, a tiny view of my planet, my home.