Make a wish! Did you ever play that game as a child where you blew from the bottom of your lungs at that dandelion puffball, hoping, hoping, you would blow away every last puffy seed? If you blew away every single seed (not a single one remaining, thank you!) then your wish would come true.
Of course, 99.9% of the time you couldn’t blow hard enough in one long breath to remove every last seed. So you lingered afterward, either looking for another one to try, or figuring out how to do it better next time.
Is that plant wishing it could grow beyond the confines of that brown glass bottle half-buried in the woods? Or is it content to simply be there in the forest, only knowing the sun dimly through the reflection in the glass above its head?
Is the raven missing his feather? Does he even notice it’s gone, dropped on the needles beneath the white pine where he lingered earlier this spring? Does he wish it back? Or is he soaring on the currents of the wind above the Huron Bay, his talons outstretched, prepared to land on that branch, his black feathers hot in the May sun?
Is the birch bark tendril wishing to return to the comfort of the tree bark wrapped in white round and round and round that birch tree? Or is it content to ornament a spruce branch? Is it wishing it still papered itself like skin around its mother or does it thrill to be free?
Does the wave dream of the moments when it swelled and rocked deep in the middle of the bay, long before it separated itself into the word “wave”? Does it wish to gently feel again the bellies of sleek whitefish, silvery trout, flitting herring? Or is it content to wash against the shore, now feeling the grains of sand and rocks, now turning over on itself?
Or is it only humans who wish and dream and pray for things to be different than they are? Is it a gift or curse that we sometimes long for change, for healing, for difference, for new creations? I suppose it is both. In our wishing, let’s not ignore the beauty that surrounds us in this moment, a whole perfect beauty that shines forth in the reflection of our ponds every single day.