Morning’s first song, evening’s final call, winged creatures, colors painted into trees, starkly outlined or mere smudges, streaks of sapphire, orange bursts of breasts.
Their songs, symphonic reeds, trills waking us at daybreak, our 5:00 a.m. alarm. Or sighs, sweeping swirls across skies in evening’s mist, a goodnight kiss.
I wonder if a bird struck down, sings before its spirit escapes an unexpected battle.
On an early morning jog, I found a wren, eyes closed, on the sidewalk. I scooped it up and laid it at the base of a tree then scanned the block for a wildflower. It was too early for the dandelions to be awake but a closed Taraxacum is better than none.
As I reached down to pluck it from the wet grass, there beside, on its side, eyes closed, too, lay a robin. For two sleeping birds, I picked two sleeping dandelions.
May we, like our winged friends, be an offering with actions like morning songs or evening arias, awakening, not angering, hearts with color-filled glimpses of God’s well-blended Presence.
Beautiful post to start my day
Thank you so much, Andrew! Hope you’re doing well—
Spectacular..all of it!!
The photo knocked my socks off
“May we, like our winged friends, be an offering with actions like morning songs or evening arias, awakening, not angering, hearts with color-filled glimpses of God’s well-blended Presence.”
collected them from the corners just to knock them off again.
Sarah, thanks so much for staying and sitting a bit with me. It means so much and I can’t wait to stop by and visit your garden!!!
Lovely, poetic language, Deb. Indeed, “may we, like our winged friends, be an offering with actions like morning songs or evening arias.” Beautifully expressed!
Thank you, Nancy. So good to hear from you and I hope you are doing well. (I don’t doubt it for a minute :)) ❤️