It’s my favorite thing to finish and the hardest task to start, especially on a Friday afternoon in May, seventy-seven degrees with light and variable winds carrying bird songs and flower fragrance to my deck, the place that beckons and distracts, delays, then inspires, a blog post.
Were I inside, with my face toward a screen, my back to the window, typing thoughts about considering the lilies, the wildflowers, the Roses, I would not feel the breeze that moves them, nor be warmed by the sun that coaxes them to bloom.
Robins, hailed as a first sign of spring here, red-breasted early risers, their singing remembered and missed on quiet winter mornings, recently rising above other birds considered, favorite.
Not ours, perhaps no one’s, Thomas O’Malley frequents our back yard, grabbing a bite to eat if he’s lucky, and moving on.
A Cat and Mouse game, rather, Cat and Chipmunks. Who will move first?
Were two better than one? Both alive when the game was done.
“That’s disappointing. I could kick myself.”
Lilacs, crowned with more lavender beauty than I can recall, and even more lovely to smell.
Though one brings delight while the buzz of the other startles, both are blessed by the blooms and belong; Bumblebees and Butterflies.
Cardinals, perched in our tree, or a neighbor’s, their signature song repeating, the clear notes rising above all other bird chatter,
Ants, traveling from one side of the deck to the other on a designated plank highway, following a Keep Left rule or running headlong into each other; glad, if they can be, that I’ve moved my chair out of their way. And why do the ants cross the deck? To get to the Peony buds, of course.
Peonies, pregnant with pink blooming power, old-fashioned favorites, planted by a previous home owner. Thank you.
Mr. and Mrs. Finch, rejecting the trees, building their home in the fern hanging on our porch, then adding one egg a day until there were five.
Peeking in on tiptoe, carefully watering around the nest when Mrs. Finch is away, we watch a jumble of beaks, claws, and tiny white feathers swell day by day under the sun and the shade and the care of their parents. Why do birds work so hard to find and bring food to their offspring? As the same wind that moves the roses sends the potted fern spinning, the babies rest and grow, not bothered by the motion. Soon they will fly!
Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well. Luke 12:22-31