A Declaration of Interdependence

I hold this truth,
which should be evident,
that, while all are created equal,
all also are created equally dependent.

Walking around Holmes Lake this morning, I was reminded--over and over again--of just how much I need other forms of life to make my own life whole. 

I certainly needed that meadowlark I saw atop the dam.  And so, we made room for each other, neither one  having to cede much land to the other.  His brilliant yellow breast took my breath away and I hoped that, in return, he took some pleasure in knowing I wouldn't flush him from his place.

I needed to see the half dozen vultures tanning on the beach, so out of place not pinned to the sky.

I needed to see the remnants of bottle rockets, laying like Pick-Up-Sticks next to the bridge.   And the woman who passed me while I was hunched over, gathering up the remains, needed to see me cleaning up a bit.

I needed to watch the blue heron, standing motionless in the shallows just feet from me. 

I needed to hear bird song and bullfrogs, bike tires on gravel and baseballs finding bats. 

And, on this particular Fourth of July morning, by the time Finn and I reached our car, I found that what I needed most was to declare not my independence but rather my interdependence.  It is better to make my way through this life with others at my side, acknowledging my need for their love, their silence, their voices, their presence.

Better to lean into rather than away from this life and all of its characters.  That is where the real stories are made, in the complicated, glorious thick of things.