Monday, February 24, 2025, 2*
Patterned by trees, a slice of moon watches. Frost sparkles on the railing, on the cart waiting to be useful, waiting to sit by the gate to be filled with food for dogs food for people. In Pennsylvania the cart took shelter in the garage rolled out to carry broken branches not for a bonfire, branches to be cut into mulch fed one by one into a very loud machine. Without manicured grasses to maintain branches lay where they fall broken pieces carried away for unseen nests; they lay with leaves to keep the ground from frying, from drying out. No one walks in tree debris at least not me.
Something shifted yesterday or did it awaken? Was the blue jay I heard in search of spring or a scout looking for nesting things: leaf debris, spider webs, mud, moss, feathers, soft plant parts, dung, fur, bark, other things? Perhaps the blue jay searched for the perfect tree, a special place to secure baby blue speckled eggs. How can a blue jay determine “sheltered” if there are no leaves? What does the blue jay see that I can’t see?
Something shifted yesterday.
“But ask the animals what they think—let them teach you;
let the birds tell you what’s going on.
Put your ear to the earth—learn the basics.
Listen—the fish in the ocean will tell you their stories.
Isn’t it clear that they all know and agree
that God is sovereign, that he holds all things in his hand—
Every living soul, yes,
every breathing creature?
Isn’t this all just common sense,
as common as the sense of taste?
Do you think the elderly have a corner on wisdom,
that you have to grow old before you understand life?”
Job 12: 7-12 (The Message)
Photo: LJ Austin
