No Good Word For That Alchemy by Paul Barach

Every time I stand beneath a Coastal Redwood my mouth hangs open as a thousand words try to escape from my chest all at once.

Every time, the only one that makes it through is a confounded “How?”

How can something grow so titanic?

I know the short answer: it’s a plant, a genetic byproduct of water, carbon dioxide, and sunlight. Redwoods just get a little overzealous about it.

I even know the long answer; a seed the size of a grain of sand falls hundreds of feet to the soil. With enough sunlight, water, luck, and time, a sentient monolith the width of a Boeing 747 soars into the sky, spreading out branches the size of tree trunks with twigs the size of saplings, tall enough to shade the Statue of Liberty’s torch.

And still, “How?”

What other word fits when witnessing a miracle?