The mountains loom large ahead. Wee ants, we scurry across meadow and stream, hoping to get close enough to glimpse glory. The eyes of the rocks look past us, down over the valleys carved by snow and water, watching over the dominion we have somehow been granted permission to tread across. By our smallness, we are reminded that this world was not made for us. It was simply made, and then we appeared, perhaps by accident, or perhaps to give some meaning to these surroundings.
Just as the birds don’t sing for the benefit of us humans, this majesty wasn’t molded to brighten our lives. Yet its beauty is unsurpassed by anything we could create. How did our eyes evolve to see the drama of the sharp peaks against the impossibly blue sky? How did our ears open to recognize the songs of the sparrows in the trees as something more than birdspeak? How did our minds expand to value such resplendence, to see it as not just our habitat but our sublime fortune to live among? It is a wonder that we are allowed to wander through something we still can’t quite understand, but as long as we are kind, we avoid being swept away by the wind that made us for yet another day.