There was very little fog this morning, only a small patch as I left the development.
There was, however, a couch--yes, a couch--in the road, not quite in the middle of the road, but not close enough to the curb or a car to say that it was put there as trash or something to pick up later.
Immediately, my mind was racing. How does a couch get left in the road? How do you lose a couch? How do you not know that it's missing?
Curiosity is something that feeds me and directs me every morning when I go to church. The grounds at Hope are filled with the wild, with palms and oaks and pines and they are also filled with the planned, patches of ground purposefully planted with native flowers, trees and shrubs.
There is no question that I love taking pictures of flowers and that those planned areas of Hope provide the most picture perfect displays.
But those flowers have a limited, short story. They never struggled, not the way other living things do in the wild. Yes, there were blindingly bright and hot days, rainless days, dry days, days when we had to water our new plants to keep them thriving. These flowers were cared for and loved and it's these flowers I notice that though they may lose their petals one day, they always come back a few days later.
Outside of these protected areas, though, the wildlife tells a different story. There the rabbits run and the mourning dove picks through the pine needles to build the perfect home, risking its life there on the ground.
And here and there color appears. The same flowers we planted are growing elsewhere. And so in the midst of the green and the brown of the wild, of plants perpetually dying and growing and dying, there are flashes of color. They are completely alone and yet they grow.
Amazingly they are no less beautiful than the ones cared for closer to the church. They are no less colorful. In fact, they have a strength about them. They stand straight. They do not droop or seem sleepy as the sun begins to rise. They stand tall. They stand tall even when other plants around them are losing the fight.
They stand because even though I am not their caretaker, they are loved and cared for by Another.
There was, however, a couch--yes, a couch--in the road, not quite in the middle of the road, but not close enough to the curb or a car to say that it was put there as trash or something to pick up later.
Immediately, my mind was racing. How does a couch get left in the road? How do you lose a couch? How do you not know that it's missing?
Curiosity is something that feeds me and directs me every morning when I go to church. The grounds at Hope are filled with the wild, with palms and oaks and pines and they are also filled with the planned, patches of ground purposefully planted with native flowers, trees and shrubs.
There is no question that I love taking pictures of flowers and that those planned areas of Hope provide the most picture perfect displays.
But those flowers have a limited, short story. They never struggled, not the way other living things do in the wild. Yes, there were blindingly bright and hot days, rainless days, dry days, days when we had to water our new plants to keep them thriving. These flowers were cared for and loved and it's these flowers I notice that though they may lose their petals one day, they always come back a few days later.
Outside of these protected areas, though, the wildlife tells a different story. There the rabbits run and the mourning dove picks through the pine needles to build the perfect home, risking its life there on the ground.
And here and there color appears. The same flowers we planted are growing elsewhere. And so in the midst of the green and the brown of the wild, of plants perpetually dying and growing and dying, there are flashes of color. They are completely alone and yet they grow.
Amazingly they are no less beautiful than the ones cared for closer to the church. They are no less colorful. In fact, they have a strength about them. They stand straight. They do not droop or seem sleepy as the sun begins to rise. They stand tall. They stand tall even when other plants around them are losing the fight.
They stand because even though I am not their caretaker, they are loved and cared for by Another.
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