Sunday morning
in the Tennessee Mountains, and the sky is blue and full of freshness. I sit on
the back porch sipping coffee, and I look beyond the porch railing and spot a
cardinal, its red colors standing out like a lit ornament. He’s set against an opaque
backdrop that is easily discernible through the thick debris, without the
foliage of summer. Nothing to capture it with but words; my camera is inside.
Some things are best captured with prose,
without the leading and distractions of imagery. A picture can lead its
audience in a direction that misses the point entirely. Sometimes the point is one
a lonely soul needs.
He drops out of
site for a moment, probably getting me used to him being away. “I am still
here,” he says, “watching over you.” I can hear his sweet song. Not a warning call, but a calming tune that
will comfort me the remainder of the day.
I am reminded
that my birthday passed by a few days back. No recovering my lost day in the
woods. My back issues are not yet healed. I look forward to a yearly hike on my
birthday, in the stillness and quiet of the forest. Another is on the way,
still in the distance, barely a seedling at this point. With hours of
preparation in between. His message is to prepare now for what awaits later;
don’t miss an opportunity.
My cardinal is
such a beauty. Earlier this morning I heard his call of warnings when I stepped
outside. Didn’t see any visible signs but words can do the job. Why warnings
before the calm? Now he basks in peace and beauty.
He steps away
for a moment, and now an unexpected breeze flows, out of character with the
still morning. It rattles leaves and stirs the air.
The cardinal
made me think of a friend’s mom. The friend’s comment a week back, that a visit
from a red cardinal signifies a visit from a loved one from heaven. Her
wonderful mother passed away recently, after a life full of treasures placed
upon those she knew. She couldn’t linger forever in person, and it would not
have been fair of her to do so. We must step up and make our own memorial.
Some people leave
their indelible touch on us, with a reminder of them everywhere we look. A lift
of the spirit, of our faith. Memories. Talking about them is time well spent,
for it renews lessons that are worth reliving. It helps to unlock their secrets that were in front of us all along.
A tree is now
fallen on a steeply pitched hill below the deck I stand on; I visualize a
family of squirrels darting in and out, it being the shelter when raising their
young. Now it’s nourishment for the ground it fed, yet it serves as a reminder
when I look at the rotting tree, now in pieces on the ground, and host to a
nice array of greens, reds, and yellows that cling to its shell. I envision the
images I captured of this tree with my camera almost ten years back. The next
generation won’t see this tree as more than what once was; something of the
past with nothing left to offer. This puts such a burden on me to leave an indelible
mark for others to visualize what I see.
Where do these
thoughts of goodness that flow through me come from? How many generations back
of planting good seed?
A reminder was sent
to me today by a messenger. Unknowing to the cardinal? I don’t think so. He
knows how to look at me, what to say and how to Say it, and to remind me of
what is good. Perhaps it comes as instinct, for animals do as they are
programmed, unlike many people. Their purpose is set, and while they are free
to enjoy many things while on the earth, they don’t take more than they give.
I long to walk
in the woods on my birthday.
