The world is calling to me.

I am not a nature writer, but my posts are becoming more and more about nature. 

It is bathtime here at our house,  my children are little, and so bathtime is a time of dressing, and whining, and getting ready for the next day.  It is not peaceful it is fraught.  One adult usually cleans up dinner and the kitchen while the other adult wrestles the children into a routine they desperately seek to stall...

But I need to tell you, reader about how amazingly shiny the jalapenos growing in the garden are.  How their green is so dark I could mistake it for the sky.  Why are they so shiny, what is it that makes their skin so reflective?  Why does it nearly move me to tears?

And the green beans, they are few people's favorite vegetable, but they are a staple.  Tonight I brought a bundle. I will blanch them and save them for winter. Then I started snapping the ends off and pulling the string out of their belly and was taken by the sound... a sound that is the soul of humid weather.

Last week I went on an evening walk, I was listening to a podcast, and I stopped a moment to adjust my ear buds, when I was taken with the sounds of the Cicadas.  I could not put word in my ears. I could not let a podcast drown out my awe.  The world was offering her wildness to me, so my last mile had a different sound.

I live in a tame organized suburban area of Indianapolis.
It is not wild here. People complain about weeds growing on sidewalks and the chipmunks.

But the world is calling out to me.
Her shiny skin, her snap of sound, her song of the insect.
And, despite my best efforts, I cannot let go.