Spontaneity: nice idea. Tough, though, for those with Lists. Those who don’t want their plans disturbed.
- Finish article
- Scour kitchen
- Shower
- Immerse in novel
This is Plan A. Also Plan B.
And probably C, judging from my testy response to my mate saying, “Let’s drive to Mt. Spokane!”
Disturbed by his interruption, I look up from my keyboard and probably glare.
“Great day for a picnic,” he adds, grinning. “I’ll pack the car.”
Joining him means a second, longer list:
- Abandon article
- Ignore Code 3 kitchen
- Postpone shower
- Change clothes
- Slather on sunscreen (i.e. baste self in 50 SPF mayo)
- Drive for three hours
Above all, forgo today’s Action Plan. I waffle and sputter.
Did fear write My List? If so, nothing worthwhile will bloom from my efforts.
When did I relinquish spontaneity?
Truth and Timing
At this point I remember a friend and I recently agreed, online, to each spend time enjoying nature—this weekend. It’s Sunday afternoon. Our agreement is public: As long as there are electrons, our words are out there. Talk about motivation.
Besides, what might I miss if I stay home and work?
I dress too fast, buckle myself into our vintage car. Then I notice my outfit: B&W paisley pants, t-shirt with colorful stripes, green fish, and blue swirls against black water.
En route to my closet again for plain black capris, I do the shoe-shuck dance. A last breath of delicious AC, a final gaze at my chair and books.
Today I will practice spontaneity.
Dreamer has the top down, engine running. I settle back to watch clouds. We haven’t been to the mountain in ages.
Nearing the summit, ivory splendor stuns us. It’s glorious! In forty years, we’ve never seen Beargrass bloom on Mt. Spokane.
I almost missed out on wonder today.
Muscle and Delicacy
Once home again, I read about Beargrass, also called pine lily, Western turkeybeard, soap grass, and quip-quip. Showy blossoms crown hefty stalks. Per plant, up to 400 buds the size of a fingernail will unfurl.
Stamens sport long violet filaments, like movie stars in chiffon scarves.
And this: Beargrass blooms in five to seven year cycles. No wonder I’ve never seen it here!
Moving up the stalk, firework blossoms open, altering the flower’s overall shape . . .
from sphere
to cone
to cylinder.
Muscular stalks bolt from a wiry nest of leaves. One source describes leaf veins as parallel “keeled rib-lines.”
I think of my own muscles, grown soft from weeks of travel.
And what about spiritual stamina? Can plants mentor people? Could I become “disturbance tolerant”?
Beargrass survives forest fire, drought, frost, and avalanche.
Beargrass thrives almost anywhere, from summits to dense forests to sea-level bogs.
Sacred Spontaneity
Is today’s List sacred?
Can you let at least part of it go, make time to be surprised by creation, and the Creator?
NOTE: A couple we met on the mountain said this is a banner year for Beargrass.
If you live near Spokane, cross something off your list, take a camera, some snacks, and go see it.
Or head outdoors wherever you are, see what you find . . . I’d love to hear about it.
Spontaneity rewards those who accept its invitations.
