As I stepped into the screened-in breezeway between my house
and garage, I heard the muffled sound of wings. Something swooped by my head
and landed on the screen: a brown thrush. It had flown in through the open
garage door and couldn't find its way out. It was a beautiful bird, reminding
me of an auburn-haired girl with a fair white complexion and long, graceful
limbs. An exhausted girl. She watched me warily, her feet grasping the screen,
her little chest heaving.
I'd found birds in the breezeway before, sparrows and
finches mostly, even, once, a hummingbird. They would flit wildly from screen
to screen, somehow never seeing the open doorway to the garage and, through
it, freedom. Sometimes I'd tried to catch them and carry them outside, but
they'd eluded me, careening even more frantically until it seemed cruel to keep
trying. Eventually they would find their way out.
This thrush was bigger than the other birds, so I thought
she might be easier to catch. I approached her slowly, crooning in a hushed
voice, "Don't be afraid. I want to help you." When I got within
reach, she made another panicked dart to the other side of the breezeway and
watched me. What sounds do birds find friendly? I wondered. Should I chirp?
Sing in my best soprano voice? I took a deep breath and felt myself grow very
still inside, until it seemed that there was nothing in the world except the thrush
and me. I kept my eye on her as I approached, humming and whispering as I would
to a frightened child. Then I reached out and grasped her. I could feel her
heart pounding, but she didn't struggle. I stroked her speckled throat with my
finger and carried her outside, pausing a moment by the hedges so she could get
her bearings. When I opened my hands, she flew off in a great thrilling rush.
Her wings, I saw, were unharmed. She had not damaged them
banging herself against the screens, so she could probably have resisted me for
a long time. But she had not. It was as if she had understood my intent and
trusted me. None of the other birds had ever let me catch them.
Full of the wonder of this, and with the feel of her
delicate body still warm in my hands, I went on to water the flowers by the
side of the house. The day was warm and bright. The flowers were thirsty. As
they drank in the cool, clear water, I could sense their relief. Then something
behind me needed my attention. The young pin oak. It wanted a drink too. The
message was utterly clear, as though some mysterious telephone line between
species had suddenly opened, and we were all communicating in a wordless
language: the bird, the flowers, the tree, and me.
It went on like that for some time: The wasp on the railing,
warning me not to come closer. The grasses sunbathing by the garage, sighing
their pleasure. The squirrel chanting, Busy, busy. And I, in a state of quiet
awe, feeling that if I could be still enough, listen carefully enough, I could
hear all of creation speaking, even the rocks.
(p.44, The Sun, December, 2012)
And here is Jesus in His Course.
There is a light in you
which cannot die;
whose presence is so
holy that the world
is sanctified because of
you. All things
that live bring gifts to
you, and offer them
in gratitude and
gladness at your feet.
The scent of flowers is
their gift to you.
The waves bow down
before you, and the trees
extend their arms to
shield you from the heat,
and lay their leaves
before you on the ground
that you may walk in
softness, while the wind
sinks to a whisper round your holy head.
L156.4
L156.4
