On the Feast of St. Scholastica, Virgin of the Church

Out in the back yard with the dogs this morning, I saw that most of the snow has melted, leaving just a scattering of white patches around the land. I knelt and poked one of the patches with my finger. It seemed to be made of tiny glass beads, and it yielded and melted beneath my touch. The day is supposed to be mild and cloudy, and the earth around our farm will probably be completely bare of snow by the time I return home tonight. But more is forecast for a few days from now. We have certainly gotten our share of winter in the mountains this year.

Arriving at work, I stepped out of the car and was immediately heralded by several of “my” crows, who were circling the parking lot and obviously watching for me. They alit on a parking lot light pole and called down to me, impatient for a treat of saltines. I spread some crackers on the ground and smiled to myself when they swooped down after I walked away.

Entering an artificially-lit, artificially-heated building filled with masked people with blank eyes and souls in turmoil, I looked back at the little black lives gathered around the crackers I left for them. I felt whole, and content. I felt myself to be an object of grace. I whispered a prayer as the door closed behind me, sealing me in with the reality of today’s world.

~ S.K. Orr