afternoon world-scope

"A leaf, a drop, a crystal, a moment of time is related to the whole, and partakes of the perfection of the whole. Each particle is a microcosm, and faithfully renders the likeness of the world. . . . So intimate is this Unity, that, it is easily seen, it lies under the undermost garment of nature, and betrays its source in the Universal Spirit. . . It is like a great circle on a sphere, comprising all possible circles; which, however, may be drawn, and comprise it, in like manner."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature, 1836


Sit. Absorb.

It is cold out. A whipping wind hurls drifts of wintry air about. Sky is full of big, layered grey clouds - and every so often yellow stripes of light in the distance. Coats buttoned tight and windows firmly shut - heat circulates inside.

A gym class volleyball game: the tall boy screws his face in frustration and takes the game too seriously, trudging around the 'court' and feeling as though he knows what he is doing better than the others. A tiny girl stands precariously in her spot and reaches out her spindly arms as the big yellow ball comes whirring over the net - she yips and misses. The boy looks over his shoulder and rolls his eyes.

In a tucked-away classroom, papers rustle and furl and every so often tear. A book is placed on every desk, and between every different cover, roughly sixteen times, Ophelia dies and Hamlet goes insane. The students turn their pages and scribble down messy essays with blue or black ball-point pens; they search the book for the right quote to use and pause to remember the proper citation. In each of the sixteen copies of every single page, someone speaks and no one hears.

Behind another door, someone is thrilled. Someone is anticipating, glancing at the clock several times in a minute, tapping a foot and shifting positions, crossed legs, rise up, sink down - and look out the window. The tree-branches look beautiful and wise. In one room, or many, someone is in love, or someone has maybe found something lost.

In the lab, a physics test. Three tables and desks in the aisles: students bend over their papers and scratch with their pencils the answer on the calculator-screen; draw diagrams and puzzle a little on paper. Right out the window, construction workers go about doing their job. One of them is whistling - whistling, whistling. The tune picks up and trips along, and drifts in through the window. A student finishes the test and hands it in.

Somewhere, flowers bloom. And further north, snow falls, the temperature freezes. Somewhere it is night and someone is having a midnight snack. Somewhere it is midday and a child is running through a field, going somewhere deep in imagination.

Somewhere, everyone is doing something. The Christian arranges flowers in a shop and checks to see when he can go home. The pagan tires of studying for a math exam, and the atheist sips an iced coffee. The attorney at his desk imagines his grandmother's lasagna, and the artist tries to get an annoying pop song out of her head. Behind the counter, the cashier thinks of Italy. The man who does not know what he is wraps his scarf around his neck in the cold.

A carousel turns. A baby cries and a young girl sings, "It is all connected."