A tiny yellow jumping spider huddled on my computer room’s window screen yesterday afternoon, absorbing, as so many creatures are doing these days, the sun. It was the first spider I saw this year (partly because I have barely been out and haven’t been poking my nose amidst the bushes enough), but like every time I witness even such a tiny declaration of existence, the joy of living in a world rich in other lives sings within my breast. It is something I have never been able to fathom: How can humans be content in a world just of their own making? The more this city succumbs to the patina of concrete and human dwellings, the more people’s attentions are diverted to purely artificial fabrications, and the more the ignorance and disgust with other creatures’ presence proliferate, the more we lose contact with what and who we are.
I heard a neighbor gossiping outside my bedroom window earlier today, voicing disgust with the rain shower yesterday. “It was awful! I was hoping to get outside in the evening, but it was like, so awful! I really hate when the weather gets like that!” Of course rain can be miserable, but yesterday evening it was warm and the rain fell as a quiet drizzle for only a short period. Why must that always seem a bad thing? Days illuminated by sunshine, nights showered with rain. The ingredients of bounty and prosperity.