There is a subtle beauty that exists in our daily life if we look hard enough. It is the undercurrent of who we are that is often forgotten in the busyness of the day. Souls come and go and those of us who remain wait our turn. We don’t know when our time is up but we can spend a lot of wasted effort considering the possibility. Of course, our mortality is a matter over which worry is pointless. Death is a mystery as much as is the life we imagine beyond it. Unfortunately, by the time we are done with our worry, we find the life we have has scurried by making way for lost opportunity and regret.
Entertaining a life of no regrets can be daunting, but the alternative can make us blind to what we have. We will never have all the answers to the play called our life, but if this is true, then what?
At a certain point in the evening, somewhere between 6:30 and 7, the birds begin to chatter formidably and lay claim to the angel fountain in Merlin’s Garden. I found the fountain at a garage sale. Surrounded by a sea of white iceburg roses, a garden essential as far as I am concerned, it has been one of my better finds . Ever since its placement in the garden, the birds began visiting it regularly. They often come in small groups, landing gracefully at the base. They duck their heads in and out the water, flutter their wings and talk incessantly to each other. I watch in a chair on a level just above the fountain in awe of the show. I sit very still. I curse myself for not having the camera. I think I must have died and gone to heaven, yet I am in my own backyard. Lucky me. Ten years ago I would have never imagined watching birds in water one of my favorite activities.
The birds, well, they seem oblivious to my presence. On occasion they look over their shoulder to be assured of their safety, but then go back to the water to cool their bodies and shake their wings. At which time I take a deep breath. I also smile. They are being birds, but I feel they have given me an offering of love. I consider the times in my life when I could have cared less. It was ignorance actually.
It strikes me. How the flutter of wings has its own language. It says not all is lost, that indeed my salvation lies in living the moment, and that some of the best things in life come from what has been given us in those we love and also in what we see brewing in our garden.