I can never predict, ever, what I will see each morning at Hope.
I come at sunrise and expect birds.
I come by later and expect silence and instead am greeted by a new selection of birds, by the blue jay whose distinctive song rivals the cardinal's in beauty, and by the ducks, always seemingly out for a morning stroll, but always with one eye on me and another on food.
I wish I knew. I wish I had a calendar or clock that would tell me when such and such animals would appear, but not knowing, I suppose, is better sometimes. Not knowing shows us that the world does not bend to our whims or demands. It is not to be contained. It is not be constrained. It operates on no one's timetable but God's.
I come at sunrise and expect birds.
I come by later and expect silence and instead am greeted by a new selection of birds, by the blue jay whose distinctive song rivals the cardinal's in beauty, and by the ducks, always seemingly out for a morning stroll, but always with one eye on me and another on food.
I wish I knew. I wish I had a calendar or clock that would tell me when such and such animals would appear, but not knowing, I suppose, is better sometimes. Not knowing shows us that the world does not bend to our whims or demands. It is not to be contained. It is not be constrained. It operates on no one's timetable but God's.
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