Lately I’ve shared my mornings and evenings with a surprising but most welcome guest.
During self isolation at our farm, I’ve developed a routine of sitting on our cabin’s screened-in porch as the sun rises and again late in the afternoon.
They are quiet moments to reflect in these troubled times.
There is peace in the view. The trees shine with their bright green leaves of spring. The pond at the bottom of the hill is rippled as puffs of wind move across it.
Not long after first light and again as the evening wanes, a male eastern bluebird perches on the top of a tall pole that supports the remains of a purple martin house left scrambled by Hurricane Michael.
The songs of cardinals dominate the air.
The bluebird is silent with his back to me and his gaze seemingly fixed the same as mine on the view before us.
A dear friend wrote to me recently to share her excitement about the bumper number of monarch caterpillars in her garden this year.
It was a short message in praise of “the little things.”
Like the calls of the chuck-will’s-widows that migrated back to the farm this week .
Like the teeming swarm of honey bees I saw in the woods last week as they searched for a new home for their queen.
Like the dark sky and bright stars as a sliver of a moon set the other night .
Like a bluebird.
He flies off and I return to the cabin with questions still unanswered but a stronger faith