The Age of Innocence
Have we reached the close of innocence? Where can we go to hear gentle truth, to weave meaning from what we understand and have been told, to sit quietly with wisdom?
Each day we seem to be swept beneath a tide of words and opinions. Those once called fortune‑tellers now wear the titles of economist, business analyst, digital guru, or political commentator—always promising to predict what comes next. Too often they are wrong, and their anxious forecasts leave us fearful and heavyhearted. How kinder it would be if their voices softened into stillness.
From my window I drink in the simple gifts of trees, vines, flowers, and the wide blue sky. I listen to birds sing, watch small animals and insects, and breathe the cool, clean air of the forest. Here, in nature’s quiet classroom, creation teaches me about patient growth: that life unfolds in many seasons, and one day my own season will end. Yet what a mercy the beauty that surrounds us now, if only we pause and savour it. Each breath opens us to another sweet encounter with the world—places and people alike: those beside us, those we long to see, and those who have gone. Their souls glow in the light of memory and presence. That innocence we fear is lost still lives—in the sunlight, in the birdsong, in the tender looking of one soul to another.
