My daughter said to me once that if I ever wreck my car, it will most likely be because I was watching blue birds along the way. I do have an affinity for birds. It’s a joy born from childhood when I both fed and buried little
birds. As I write these words, my little friends are chirping outside my window, reminding me the feeders need to
be filled. They are charming gifts of whimsy and delight. And they are free… they are free in that they entertain and bless me at no charge… but they are also free in that they easily embrace both earth and sky.
I am thankful for little birds.
My Dad has always loved hawks… red tailed hawks especially. One way we always passed time on long trips to Carolina to visit grandparents was to watch for hawks. Dad could spot them the easiest, the quickest (and he was always the one doing the driving… hmm). I would be in the backseat, and I’d watch and watch the trees go by.
I’d look at those long lines of wires, pole to pole, hoping I’d spot one before Dad. Sometimes Mom would spot one, but rarely did I see a hawk first.
Yesterday, I was on my way home from a day at work that I was more than ready to leave behind. It was Friday, and as I was driving, I was trying to let go what weighed on me so I could better embrace the freedom of the week-end. Breathe out worries. Breathe in peace. Breathe out confusion. Breathe in clarity. I was working on it. As I came up a hill and passed an elementary school, I noticed the beauty of this open field and all these little
songbirds flying low to the ground. Maybe they were feeding on something in that field. It was this idyllic scene with the light hanging so golden upon their sweet wings. And then this hawk flew right over my windshield, and it was fabulous! It was so beautiful, so striking in its wingspan and color. And the way it flew over to that field was like ice dancing straight out of the Olympics. I had never seen such a glorious flight… with ease and grace it curved in its path and increased in speed. And then, it dawned on me what was about to happen. The little birds became aware, and they were trying with all of their might to be anywhere but there. And of course, what seemed the smallest and the slowest became the target and down came the talons and small wings were tied to the ground to rise no more. The hawk held tight, sitting still in that golden light until the young life ceased.
In all of my life, I’ve never witnessed this before. All so quickly, right before my eyes as I passed by in my car… life, beauty, simplicity, peace, violence, death, simplicity, peace. I know this is the nature of nature. I realize the hawk must eat. I understand the circles and cycles of life. But what I am sitting with today is the little bird. She fed on grains. She roamed the fields and felt the warmth in the sunlight of a coming spring. She sang. She perched in high treetops, and perhaps noted the wonder of her surroundings. She was this little innocent, and I don’t want to believe that her purpose, her allotted role in life was to feed the hawk. But she did. And the hawk
will rise up nourished and stronger because she existed.
We must hold onto the purest truths in this life, my friends, even as the hawks swoop. Sometimes the temptation is to retreat… to hold up in the safety of shelter and those who know and love us and remain far away from the eyes of the hawks. Sometimes we compare ourselves to the mighty, to the keen who are swift in their glory, and we feel lost to their vastness… and we retreat from our own songs and artistry. But sometimes when we grow quiet enough to feel both heaven and earth pulsing through our own veins, we find the courage to live freely and truly even as the hawks soar.
Little sparrow, I am trying. In your living and in your dying, I will follow your teachings and try to live true. May my small life raise up something breathtaking. May something in me nourish that which wounds.
This is what I pray.
birds. As I write these words, my little friends are chirping outside my window, reminding me the feeders need to
be filled. They are charming gifts of whimsy and delight. And they are free… they are free in that they entertain and bless me at no charge… but they are also free in that they easily embrace both earth and sky.
I am thankful for little birds.
My Dad has always loved hawks… red tailed hawks especially. One way we always passed time on long trips to Carolina to visit grandparents was to watch for hawks. Dad could spot them the easiest, the quickest (and he was always the one doing the driving… hmm). I would be in the backseat, and I’d watch and watch the trees go by.
I’d look at those long lines of wires, pole to pole, hoping I’d spot one before Dad. Sometimes Mom would spot one, but rarely did I see a hawk first.
Yesterday, I was on my way home from a day at work that I was more than ready to leave behind. It was Friday, and as I was driving, I was trying to let go what weighed on me so I could better embrace the freedom of the week-end. Breathe out worries. Breathe in peace. Breathe out confusion. Breathe in clarity. I was working on it. As I came up a hill and passed an elementary school, I noticed the beauty of this open field and all these little
songbirds flying low to the ground. Maybe they were feeding on something in that field. It was this idyllic scene with the light hanging so golden upon their sweet wings. And then this hawk flew right over my windshield, and it was fabulous! It was so beautiful, so striking in its wingspan and color. And the way it flew over to that field was like ice dancing straight out of the Olympics. I had never seen such a glorious flight… with ease and grace it curved in its path and increased in speed. And then, it dawned on me what was about to happen. The little birds became aware, and they were trying with all of their might to be anywhere but there. And of course, what seemed the smallest and the slowest became the target and down came the talons and small wings were tied to the ground to rise no more. The hawk held tight, sitting still in that golden light until the young life ceased.
In all of my life, I’ve never witnessed this before. All so quickly, right before my eyes as I passed by in my car… life, beauty, simplicity, peace, violence, death, simplicity, peace. I know this is the nature of nature. I realize the hawk must eat. I understand the circles and cycles of life. But what I am sitting with today is the little bird. She fed on grains. She roamed the fields and felt the warmth in the sunlight of a coming spring. She sang. She perched in high treetops, and perhaps noted the wonder of her surroundings. She was this little innocent, and I don’t want to believe that her purpose, her allotted role in life was to feed the hawk. But she did. And the hawk
will rise up nourished and stronger because she existed.
We must hold onto the purest truths in this life, my friends, even as the hawks swoop. Sometimes the temptation is to retreat… to hold up in the safety of shelter and those who know and love us and remain far away from the eyes of the hawks. Sometimes we compare ourselves to the mighty, to the keen who are swift in their glory, and we feel lost to their vastness… and we retreat from our own songs and artistry. But sometimes when we grow quiet enough to feel both heaven and earth pulsing through our own veins, we find the courage to live freely and truly even as the hawks soar.
Little sparrow, I am trying. In your living and in your dying, I will follow your teachings and try to live true. May my small life raise up something breathtaking. May something in me nourish that which wounds.
This is what I pray.
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