Big World Logistics

September 25, 2025

A grasshopper bounces off my chest, welcoming me back.

I’ve returned to my grassy nook at the dealership, waiting while my trusty old car is serviced. She has a limited ability to communicate with humans, but she can use the tiny lights and pictures of her dash to spell out a message. When she holds up a little orange pictograph of an engine, it means “you need to go see Joe”. (Everyone needs a Joe, our bud and ace mechanic.)

So I’m back in my spot by the highway. Watching big world logistics go by. Literally. A truck just barreled past, its side slathered with the words “Big World Logistics”.

For now I’m in a little world, bounded on one side by the rear bumpers of the parking lot cars, and on the other by the highway’s wire fence. I have a mocha to get me through a 4AM wakeup, and a book from the ‘70s called “The Stars Belong to Everyone: How to Enjoy Astronomy”.

The book was published 4 years before I arrived on the planet, and its astronomer author died when I was 13. But in these pages, her lecture hall is still open to the public. Free admittance to wonder. I’m only in the first chapter, and already I’m dizzy with her instructions on how to use my fingernail to count the degrees of the sky, and how to watch for the Earth’s shadow after sunset.

In a couple of Saturdays, I’ll be sharing my own splash of science and art with others — exploring how to find colour in unexpected places. Practicing, my eyes crawl along this particular fenceline. Here, in this unspace of concrete and commerce.

And even here, colour. Life. Beetles and ants. My grasshopper friend. Leaves, birds, branches, clouds.

Jewel-dark berries hang heavy on the buckthorn nearby, and trusty grape is self-trellising along the barricade. About 10 metres to my left, there’s a service hatch covered with rust. Mixed with oak galls, we could turn it into a fine black ink, and record our science and our poetry.

I’m leaning on one hand while I think. When I lift it, I notice my palm is dimpled by the pretty little stones set in the concrete I’m sitting on. They’ve embossed my skin, a temporary and tactile reminder. Even surrounded by Big World Logistics, the earth is quietly and always right here, pressing firmly into my hand. 🌱