I have always imagined that I can hear God’s voice in the songs of birds. One day, fully stressed in the early months of the pandemic, I was standing in my backyard too worried to notice what is usually a breath taking view of my farm. I had lost a couple of friends and my father-in-law to that damned virus so I wasn’t thinking about muc…
I have always imagined that I can hear God’s voice in the songs of birds. One day, fully stressed in the early months of the pandemic, I was standing in my backyard too worried to notice what is usually a breath taking view of my farm. I had lost a couple of friends and my father-in-law to that damned virus so I wasn’t thinking about much else. But then, as if on cue, a single Purple Martin returned from his winter vacation in Central America, perched on his house and began chortling away. They have a beautiful voice. Chortling, clicking, singing with an indescribable melody. Now, I am not an emotional person. My wife describes it as like beating a dead horse. But that day I started sobbing. So uncontrollably, that poor Martin must have thought I was crazy. But I was a mess because it was God who was telling me that everything was going to be ok. The Martin was just the messenger. And suddenly, my farm looked beautiful again.
Thank you for so eloquently sharing this, Joel. I've felt that way many times while alone in Nature. After one such encounter that made me cry in gratitude, I wrote this little haiku: silver flash / in the moonlit creek / dolphin breathes
I have always imagined that I can hear God’s voice in the songs of birds. One day, fully stressed in the early months of the pandemic, I was standing in my backyard too worried to notice what is usually a breath taking view of my farm. I had lost a couple of friends and my father-in-law to that damned virus so I wasn’t thinking about much else. But then, as if on cue, a single Purple Martin returned from his winter vacation in Central America, perched on his house and began chortling away. They have a beautiful voice. Chortling, clicking, singing with an indescribable melody. Now, I am not an emotional person. My wife describes it as like beating a dead horse. But that day I started sobbing. So uncontrollably, that poor Martin must have thought I was crazy. But I was a mess because it was God who was telling me that everything was going to be ok. The Martin was just the messenger. And suddenly, my farm looked beautiful again.
this is beautiful.
Thank you for so eloquently sharing this, Joel. I've felt that way many times while alone in Nature. After one such encounter that made me cry in gratitude, I wrote this little haiku: silver flash / in the moonlit creek / dolphin breathes
That is great!