Monday, November 11, 2013

Inspiration from a Blackbird Symphony

This is the first autumn that I've spent in Kansas in six years. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, because I don't think I've ever seen a more magnificent fall. Small things that I must have seen before, that I must have overlooked, now sink into my heart.

A flock of blackbirds fly up in front of my car, like quarter notes in a Vivaldi symphony. Rays of sunlight from puffy clouds fall like a blessing on the farmers working to harvest the milo.

 A pumpkin spice latte is dessert in a cup, with a thrill of caffeine. My baby girl smacks her lips leaning in for the first time to give me a kiss.
A young buck jumps into the early morning light, bounding across of field of vivid winter wheat. A newspaper crackles and crinkles. A stranger offers to carry out my groceries, saying he recognizes my mother in my face. The wind blows, whipping my hair and showering me with a tornado of bright Bradford pear leaves. A "cussin' jar" sits on the commissioners' desk, reminding me I'm in small-town America. My son wants to wait on the couch, watching for his friends a full 24 hours before their arrival.

Life is just good.

Yes, there's copper thefts, Obamacare problems, deaths from cancer, abused children in need of advocacy centers, starvation and also waste.

The honk of geese just called me outside. If they can migrate each year, without GPS, find food and shelter, if the One who cares for the sparrows is in is good.   


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