Reading this morning’s newspaper, I learned a phrase I had not known before: “colony collapse disorder”. The article was about the disappearing honeybee population across the United States and the world. This is not recent news, of course. This phenomenon has been going on for a few seasons with various reasons for its happening being outlined or denied depending on who is doing the talking. While it seems everyone agrees that the demise of this tiny insect has great impact on many important life forms, not the least of which is humans, people seem less likely to agree on what is causing these pollinators of our food to disappear.

This new term, “colony collapse disorder” became juxtaposed in my mind by another piece I read, a letter to the editor. This letter was a response to an article printed earlier in the week about the oil boom in neighboring North Dakota. I had also read that article and was struck, as the writer was also, about the emphasis on the billions of barrels of oil we have found in our own backyard, the glee of this discovery and the jobs it would create. All this without any mention of the harm that this unsustainable use of energy brings with it. It was as if we had somehow forgotten that burning fossil fuels is polluting our air, our water and also shifting the ways climate is effecting our seasons and their tie to our food sources.

Now I want to be clear. I am all for creating as many jobs as we need to sustain ourselves, our families and our lifestyles. But we also need to remember that we are all a part of an immense colony of interdependent beings who rely on one another and this amazing Creation. When we harm one part of the web, our Native relatives tell us, we harm ourselves. The collapse of the bee colonies means something to each of us whether we register this wisdom on a daily basis or not. The collapse of the water systems, the air we breathe, the land quality that brings us our food affects us regardless of our politics or faith tradition.

For some reason, the words that kept floating through my mind as I tried to digest these two news articles were the ones I say with great regularity these days. Wedding words. “Friends, we are gathered together in the sight of God to witness and to bless the joining together of Joe and Jill in holy marriage.The covenant of marriage is a sacred act, honored by God, who created us as human beings to be in relationship with one another. Joe and Jill come now to join their lives together in this sacred covenant.”

This living together as human beings and as citizens of the Earth is a sacred act, honored by God, who created us to be in relationship with one another. Human to human. Human to bee. Human to animal. Human to earth, air, water. This covenant is one we choose and was chosen for us by our parents, our ancestors, our Creator. It is filled with great risk and even greater responsibility. Our work is laced with difficulty, denial,frustration and great joy. And while I may want to think this living is all about me, it is really about how I honor this sacred covenant.

As I look out my window, snow is falling. It is the first week of May and I have not seen any honeybees as yet. The pansies we planted in hope over the weekend are edged with snow. Pansies are hardy little buggers and will bounce back, I am sure. I want to have as much confidence about the rest of this colony of which we are all a part. My prayers this day are that this collapse that is afoot is only in a state of ‘disorder’ and can be righted with an appropriate dose of creativity and commitment. For the sake of the bees, for the sake of our crops and those who grow them, for the sake of us all.

Blessed be.

With great regularity, I am privileged to walk over lines of poetry. Literally. Along many of the sidewalks in our neighborhood, poetry has been etched into some of the newer sections of pavement that has been poured. This endeavor was a contest, as I recall, in which people were invited to submit a short poem suitable for cement. I love walking along and being stopped by the short, well chosen words of these anonymous poets. It makes any walk a surprising adventure. Much like the verses I read in any anthology, there are poems I remember and those that seem fresh and new each time I come upon them.

One of my favorites offers this wisdom:”Wet cement,/Opportunity./ It only takes a second/ To change this spot forever.” Indeed. Cool, gray, cementy mush gets poured into a perfect square of walkway. But one stick-drawn letter, one cat paw print, one child’s tiny hand changes the nature of that space forever. Or at least until the hardened concrete is jackhammered and replaced in some yet to be, future day. Only a second oozing into a forever.

Every time I pass over this etched-in-stone poem, I think of all the other times a second can change something forever. A chance meeting. A letter of acceptance or rejection. A turn down one road instead of another. Showing up or forgetting to go. Saying “yes” or “no” or even “maybe”. So many opportunities turn on that second that can make all the difference in the world. In a forever kind of way. Do you know what I mean?

I am surrounded these days by people at various stages of opportunity. There are those who have just made decisions about college and those who have now completed four years and are wondering where the time went. They are all at different points of making marks in an opportunity that could take them in forever kinds of paths. Still other people are at a point of their lives where they are making choices about retirement. The opportunities they had once etched in stone are about to be broken up and replaced with something new, a fresh poem and different path.

Perhaps it is always this way. We are often only a second away from someplace in the process of opportunity. The important thing might be the ability to have wisdom about how firmly we want to make a mark that might be suspended in time, forever, cemented in place. The thought is daunting, isn’t it? Maybe this is what discernment is really about. Taking the time to be intentional about the seconds that can make all the difference on the forever path.

When our sons were younger, I remember telling them in so many words to be thoughtful about choices they make that could alter their life’s dreams and path in ways they had not intended. I would probably still caution them in a similar way knowing full well that, sometimes, we only learn the really big, important lessons of life when we pick up that stick and put our initials in quickly drying cement. Ah, the plight of parenting! Ah, the plight of being human!

We walk every day on the poems of others whether we can see the words or not. The people who walk the paths with us leave their marks in a myriad ways. Through affirmations or criticism, through kindness or curse, the words of others scatter our way as we journey in the world. As a poet and as one who receives the poems, it is wise to remember the marks we make. One second can lead to a forever. It is good to be care-full.