Those who know the growing habits of bittersweet might say that it afforded me a glimpse of the uncontrollable wildness and wonder of nature. Nature was like a presence, not only outside my window, but all around me. I soared up to when I was swinging, the rain that splashed in the puddles, the woods with their magical fairy rings of toadstools and moss, the field of bees and butterflies, the salt water of Long Island Sound where we used to swim. Listening to these stories, we learn something of what God is like through Scripture. This insight continues as a subtle but important thread in the pattern of Christian thought.
Wisdom requires a surrender, verging on the mystical, of a person to the glory of existence.
Our contact with nature is likely to lead us to what can only be called religious awe. This year, when a few monarchs lingered in our Ohio garden until October, I worried that they had forgotten when and where to go. When I traveled soon afterwards to a conference in Texas, I glimpsed with relief the familiar orange wings fluttering among the flowers. The conference center was, I realized, on the direct route between Ohio and Mexico. Edward O. Wilson would have pointed out to me that the reason I had been worrying about the monarchs and hoping for their bon voyages was biophilia.