Verbal Description
A portrait image
A close-up of a plant, a red, ripe tomato hangs from a vine. Sturdy green stems come into the photo from the right edge and connect to the tomato, suspending and holding it in place. Another green v-shaped stem branches down from shadow in the upper right corner and blossoms into wrinkled leaves. At the bottom, more green leaves, somewhat blurred on the left. A distinct leaf is seen in the bottom right corner, details of its wrinkled veins apparent. A blurred hint of light brown-orange is tucked behind this leaf in the shadows.
The tomato’s bright color bursts into the green layers of leaves and shadow. It rests in the center of the image, much of its round shape visible. The tomato seems to shine, light reflecting off a spot near the center. An outer layer of fuzz is noticeable on the tomato’s skin, stems, and leaves.
Simplicity may be less simple than silent
As it reaches beyond all ability to express its truth.
Who can say for sure how anything really works?
I would not trust those who try—including myself.
Everyday miracles need not ordinary themselves up
And squeeze back into the mundane as though they are less than God.
But they speak silently, I’ve been told, silently
Like that time the world ignited as you meandered through the garden
Stunned by the Earth’s philanthropic grace
And embraced by the sun’s warmth on your unassuming cheeks.
Everyday miracles come silently
Like that moment in late October
When there are still a few tomatoes in the garage
Eager to offer their sweet summer joy.
In these swift eternal moments,
You are moved to respond
With the eloquence of gratitude
And the fleeting precision of a spark
As though every impulse might be a miracle in waiting
As though your smile, too, could express the radiance
Of our outrageously generous sun.
