The Blessing of Now
There is no debate in my mind as to whether I prefer
autumn or spring. Autumn is my personal
favorite time of year. That is not to
say that there isn’t beauty in every season.
This morning, during my walk, I got a strong sense that it comes down to
the essence of the season and the reality my own personality.
Winter had been taking it easy on northeastern
Wisconsin until the beginning of February.
Then, quicker than you can say “wind shift” we suddenly had both cold
and snow. Lake water ice stiffened and
thickened. The groundhog’s prediction of
six more weeks of winter seemed to be playing out.
This week, however, we have now had three consecutive
days of temps in the high 40’s. The
icicles along the roof line have dripped themselves out. And the snow out in the fields has settled
and melted down so that patches of tawny grasses are now exposed here and there.
I was still pulling my hat on as I headed out the
front door. Immediately I was greeted
from a finch chorus from the arborvitae that stands at the southeast corner of
the house. I like to refer to this tree
as “Hotel Arborvitae” because dozens of finches are constantly fluttering into
and out of the branches most any day. It’s
a neighborhood-scale version of the world’s busiest airport. The thick green branches no doubt absorb the
morning sun’s warmth as it climbs the eastern horizon. This morning the birds seem content to stay
tucked deep down inside and sing.
As I head down the driveway my ear catches two
cardinals to the north trying to out-sing each other. Their simple but piercing three-note calls almost
drown out the chirping chatter from the finches.
With home now a mile behind me I note a robin fly low
across the road just ahead and land on the shoulder where the snow has
completely melted. I ponder briefly
whether it is an early arrival or one of hardier stock that seems hesitant to
migrate in either direction. The closer
I get to it the more robins I see. On
the north side of the road the trees all seem to have a half-dozen or so
robins. As I look now to the field that
stretches to the south I see hundreds of robins hopping about wherever the snow
is melted away.
Around the corner and headed south I spot a kestrel
perched on top of a telephone pole.
Every time I get within a hundred feet or so of it, he flies to the next
pole. The problem for him is that he
chooses to resettle on the top of the next pole down in the same direction as
my travels. This goes on for another
mile until we reach a corner. He picks
the next pole down to the left; while my route takes me right. The kestrel has earned a rest. I don’t know exactly what to make of him. While most of his brethren migrate south for
the winter, it is not unheard of that an occasional bird stays the winter.
As I swing back around towards home a single loud note
catches my attention. I stop and turn
west toward where I think it came from.
My eyes strain into the blue haze.
Then another note, so now I am convinced. And then a single goose materializes into
view a couple of hundred yards out but coming hard. As he spies the ponds his honking picks up
its pace and urgency. But there is still
a foot of snow covering 18 inches of ice across the ponds. The only reply the single goose gets is a
flurry of caws from a bunch of crows in
the distance. The goose pushes
on; there is some open river 10 miles further.
He may find some company there as well.
I note that all of the tree buds are yet small and
hard. It will take more than three mild
days to plump them up. But the song, the
presence, and the powerful wingbeats of the various birds of this morning speak
to the anxiousness of spring. Spring can
hardly wait its chance to be underway. I
do prefer the mellowness of autumn, but there is a palpable urgency to spring
that stirs the heart.
The next few weeks will reveal whether those early
robins will experience regret or not at having rushed things. February has not yet turned its page, and St.
Patrick’s Day, give or take a day or two, is a surer bet for migration to these
parts. But this morning the sun is shining;
let’s accept the blessing of now.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Natalia Gusakova on Unsplash
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