inchworm

Two and two are four,

Four and four are eight,

Eight and eight are sixteen,

Sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two…

As a little girl I sang these words over and over; something about the melody mesmerized me, a bit forlorn, a tad melancholy. As I consider the lyrics today, I feel two forms of pertinence.

First, the inchworm is being chastised for measuring the marigolds while not connecting with the beauty they hold. An ever-present lesson.

Second, there is a subtle message that small movements-pieces-parts add up, eventually, to something much more significant.

As we sit in the latest iteration of our global pandemic, with frightening case numbers in India and significant reluctance in the United States to vaccinate, I cling to what nature’s beauty and the promise of small steps assure us: this too shall pass. Stay grounded, stay purposeful.

Two and two will always be four.

And a close-up view of a marigold is worth contemplating.