My garden is sprinkled this spring with cerulean
and blue-grays that paint our Jays in numbers we have
never seen. Migrations gather in flocks of two hundred or
more, as they move from North to South. Many have
found a tranquil resting place in our garden, content to
feed and bathe together, sometimes thirty or forty strong.
And because of it, our eyes have seen something new, even
in the familiarity of our little garden. We watch our beloved
song-birds defer to these blue-gray giants, and see that they
feel the impact of their presence. But they wait. They know
the importance of waiting.
Our Blue Ridge Parkway is much the same this spring. What
was a familiar vista has been impacted by winter's severity.
Our eyes see the devastation of what is new and different in the
carnage of fallen trees and broken limbs. We know that our
feathered friends feel that impact, as well. We empathize,
as we loved the stateliness and beauty of the trees that were
their homes. Once again, we see someting new and different,
even in what has been familiar.
We look and wait until our eyes and hearts adjust. As we ponder all
that has been, we begin to see a Cross in the wood. Slowly remembrance comes...
out of what appears to be loss can come gain. New nests
will be built, migrations will move forward, and new growth will spring forth.
And we will grow in the wait, even in the change.
Enjoy Tracey Clark's My Best Shot Monday post and links at http://traceyclark.com/blog/