PERMEATING…

About this time of year, here in America’s upper Midwest, there is a marvelous, sweet scent in the air. It seems to permeate everything, yet if you are unaware of its source, it can be hard to find. That sweet scent comes from the flowers of the Basswood (Linden) tree. This lovely tree, often in the shape of a soft-contoured pyramid, is a staple of northern Midwest forests (Maple-Basswood being a common appellation). But it is also a favorite of city foresters, park-planners, or anyone who simply has a front yard. Those little blossoms, so hard to see from down below, send their fragrance wafting on the slightest breeze, enhancing the beauty of any early summer day. And attracting bees, very helpful in the making of Basswod honey. My personal favorite.

This permeating feature is not an uncommon thing in Nature. Those who pay attention to such things often find a day, or a night, or an evening, influenced by, colored by, permeated by, any number of sweet and beautiful things. Small things. Things that may escape notice if you’re not paying attention. The smell of a rose or a peony. The beauty of a sunrise. The song of a bluebird. The throbbing of evening crickets. The purling of a brook. Any of these things and countless others can define and redeem a day.

Of course, it works the other way, too. Far too many of our days—and those of our countrymen—are now permeated by ugliness. By coarseness. By raw vulgarity and seemingly bottomless anger. By crazy conspiracies and vitriol and brutality and hatefulness masquerading as ‘policy.’ Unlike the Basswood blossoms, nothing is subtle or nuanced or gentle about any of this. And of course, that’s the point—to make it appear, make it feel, like nuance and gentleness and sweetness have no place anymore in our national life. They are irrelevant and unimportant, and in fact a threat and impediment to an all-the-time, everywhere politicization of life, characterized by the politics of brutality and corruption. And so the song of the bluebird and the singing of the stream are not worth noticing, are in fact to be not only disregarded but destroyed, in so many ways. They are not important, for the permeation of life is now done by those with great power, and an endless desire for more. The sweetness in the air is unimportant, as is any gentle sweetness still remaining in our lives. All unimportant, all to be discarded or destroyed.

I was outside today, breathing the summer air. And the Basswood blossoms disagree.