Every morning I get up between four and five o'clock, which leaves me with several long hours of waiting for the rest of the world to wake up.
Waiting for the grocery store to open at seven, waiting for good TV to come on (usually sometime after eight).
Waiting for the sun to come up, which will be later and later each day until we turn the clocks back.
I try to watch the national news, but I've been struck by a trend I noticed over the summer.
People are loud.
Why is everyone on the news so loud?
Why does everyone feel like they have to be loud in order to be heard?
In fact, I think I've become so accustomed to noise that I don't even notice the ringing in my ears until I'm at church, inside the building, alone.
This morning as I walked the grounds at Hope I had to deal with a noisy leaf blower. I tried to be patient, but I knew the noise of the leaf blower would drive the birds away.
The leaf blower seemed to follow me which just goes to show that sometimes you should face your problems head on, drive right into the storm, because even though things will be bad for a moment eventually you will both begin to move away from each other. But if you let the storm follow you, then it will always be raining.
I was able to take pictures of a dragonfly and bee, unmoved by the noise. And then before I headed back to the car, I turned a corner, up front, near the street, knowing that sometimes I find that perfect picture when I think I'm finished for the morning.
There was one bird.
I could hear others, but nothing like the chorus that greets me every other morning.
I could only see, though, this lone bird, standing at the very top of the tree, no doubt thinking that in his world, he was king. He was steady and still, unperturbed, surveying all of creation.
He was patient and I was patient, moving around him and taking pictures from different angles. As long as he was willing, I was willing and when I was finished, I moved away, more rested than I had been earlier.
Waiting for the grocery store to open at seven, waiting for good TV to come on (usually sometime after eight).
Waiting for the sun to come up, which will be later and later each day until we turn the clocks back.
I try to watch the national news, but I've been struck by a trend I noticed over the summer.
People are loud.
Why is everyone on the news so loud?
Why does everyone feel like they have to be loud in order to be heard?
In fact, I think I've become so accustomed to noise that I don't even notice the ringing in my ears until I'm at church, inside the building, alone.
This morning as I walked the grounds at Hope I had to deal with a noisy leaf blower. I tried to be patient, but I knew the noise of the leaf blower would drive the birds away.
The leaf blower seemed to follow me which just goes to show that sometimes you should face your problems head on, drive right into the storm, because even though things will be bad for a moment eventually you will both begin to move away from each other. But if you let the storm follow you, then it will always be raining.
I was able to take pictures of a dragonfly and bee, unmoved by the noise. And then before I headed back to the car, I turned a corner, up front, near the street, knowing that sometimes I find that perfect picture when I think I'm finished for the morning.
There was one bird.
I could hear others, but nothing like the chorus that greets me every other morning.
I could only see, though, this lone bird, standing at the very top of the tree, no doubt thinking that in his world, he was king. He was steady and still, unperturbed, surveying all of creation.
He was patient and I was patient, moving around him and taking pictures from different angles. As long as he was willing, I was willing and when I was finished, I moved away, more rested than I had been earlier.
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