State of Awe
Your earliest moment of wonder.
In his book Naturalist at Large
, professor and biologist Bernd Heirich describes this memory from his childhood:
Papa, Mamusha, and my sisters Ulla and Marianne, and I (the latter two of us age five and almost eleven) were quartered in a one-room hut in a dark forest in northern Germany right after World War II. Towering pines, spruce, and beech shaded the ground except for a small sloping patch in front of the cabin. Light snow had recently covered the ground, and now, after a warm spring rain, it had become black, and that made me notice something marvelous by our doorstep. From one day to the next, I saw a small patch of the dirt turning a luminous green. Perhaps the next day or so after that, the patch of dirt had expanded over the black ground: I was mesmerized by this verdant, magically spreading circle of grass blades.
This was, as far as I can remember, my earliest moment of wonder. Had grass been underfoot before, I would have hardly noticed it, from seeing it all the time. But watching that single patch expand from one day to the next was a moment of magic and mystery, maybe even of ecstasy, forever stamped into my memory.
Dear writers, what is your “earliest moment of wonder”? Describe the experience to us—as akhila78
and Angelina Nguyen
do here—and then tell us what about it filled you with awe?