Like many living in the time of COVID, I have embraced communication platforms I had paid little attention to in the past. Who knew that I would eagerly pencil into my calendar (yes, I still do that!) sessions using Google Hangouts, Facebook live-streaming, OpenVoice, Google Meet, and the best thing since sliced bread, Zoom? Zoom especially has become a favorite, even more so since I learned I could personalize my background.
The background screen I have chosen for most of my Zoom meetings is a particular inspiration for me this week. There is a large blade of green grass arching gracefully behind me, dipping slightly downwards under the weight of three drops of dew, the largest of which reflects or encloses a perfect view of the Blue Planet, our earth.
It reminds me of the truly stunning view of Earth taken from space during the Apollo 8 mission in 1968. We have all seen this photo, titled “Earthrise.”
There have been other photos of Earth from space since then, some far more technologically resplendent perhaps, but few if any had the same jaw-dropping, heart-stopping impact of this photograph. People saw our Earth as we had never seen it before, and had hardly imagined it before.
From the vastness of space, from the vantage point of a space capsule orbiting the moon, our tiny, cloud-shrouded but unmistakably blue Earth rose in the lunar sky and sparkled with everything precious to us.
What “Earthrise” managed to do was what few other pictures before or since have managed to do. It jolted us from our entitled sense of ourselves, our place in the world and our world’s place in the universe. We experienced a collective gasp of awe, real awe, at the enormity of the universe and the perfect but impermanent beauty of the world as we know it.
At this time, when we see the world as we know it come crashing down around us, it is all the more important to have that sense of awe about the Earth we live on. And when we do have the privilege of venturing out (carefully observing social distancing guidelines, and newly aware of what potential threat the tiny droplets of our breath might harbor, and toxic agents the imprints of our fingertips might deliver) we need to look around us at our Earth with wonder and gratitude. We need to connect with it and protect it.
In the time of COVID, it seems there is nothing but bad news, and plenty of it. But we need also to see a glimmer of possibilities, and renew our appreciation of the Earth. This time of year, days are lengthening, as they have in springtime for eons, before there was the blue of our oceans, or the green of photosynthesis, and before there was an atmosphere to support life as we know it. In the time of COVID, the skies are a little clearer than perhaps they have been in many years of our collective memory. Our surroundings are a little quieter. As we hit the pause button on our daily human busy-ness, we need to connect with what is beneath our feet and above our heads, and see it for the truly wonderful thing it is.
As we work to find new ways to connect with each other, let’s take extra time to connect with our Earth. Let’s take time to feel awe at the unfolding spring, the beautiful, changing skies, the life that pushes up through sidewalk cracks or clings to the sides of granite boulders. Human connection and Earth connection are key as we go forward, and will teach us some of the most important messages we need to learn.
(Millie LaFontaine lives in Concord.)