Consider the Birds of the Air; Consider My Random Thoughts
The day was muggy and hazy, ushered in by rain and a good, belligerent breeze. Everything got a good watering, but by mid-afternoon, the sun pushed through the canopy of clouds and microwaved everything into a steamy glare. The breeze remained, though diminished from the morning hours, and made things tolerable.
Jinx offered his opinion that the paucity of birds is due to the Coopers hawk who is still hanging around. Thinking on his approach, I realized that the non-seed eating birds like doves and robins have been as scarce as the feeder birds. About noon, I saw the hawk gliding through the back yard, about twenty feet off the ground. There were no birds, no squirrels, no chipmunks.
“You’re right, pardner,” I said to Jinx. Forever humble, he shrugged and went back to giving himself a pedicure.
***
I am poor at both prayer and fasting, and for similar reasons. My elbows keep slipping just as I get to the good part…my jaw moves too much…I’m more interested in satisfying a craving than I am in true and lasting nourishment. God forbid I ever start comparing my contemplative reading with my farm chores. The clumsy similes would rock the earth off its axis.
***
This morning, Jinx didn’t deign to eat his breakfast, and I accidentally left it down on the floor. Mrs. O didn’t realize this and left Dixee unattended for a bit, during which time Dixee managed to polish off 3/4 of the washtub o’ food.
My wife dosed GluttonDawg with hydrogen peroxide in order to prevent the dreaded “gluttony bloat,” which can cause twisting of the gut and can be fatal. The peroxide usually has an immediate and dramatic effect. Three doses later and she remained unvomited, with a football abdomen. A brisk walk alleviated much of the bloat and my beloved wife’s worry.
***
I like watching the birdbath during the rain. When the drops strike the water in the concrete bowl, they sometimes form large bubbles. What could be causing this? The presence of bird poop in the water? Another nature mystery.
***
An inexpert and shallow reading of the lives of the saints leads me to believe that during their dark nights of the soul, when the truth of God was revealed to them, it was often hideous and frightening and repulsive, because it came to them after the black silence, the muteness of Him Whom they trusted. Perhaps the Western world is currently undergoing a dark night of the collective soul?
***
My Catholicism, such as it is, is like the quilts my grandmother used to cover me with. Rough, homespun, colorful, good-smelling, with lots of little red strings in the center of each square that invite small fingers to pluck and take hold and pull. Sometimes the stitches unravel. Sometimes the squares come out.
***
My fiery love for Saint Joan of Arc remains as strong as ever. The Maid must have really been something to see when she was riding into battle. Look at any 16 or 17-year old girl you know and envision her in full armor, astride a horse, sword fastened on her hip, banner fluttering above her, and hundreds of rough men following her into death’s canyon, their sunburnt faces glowing with devotion and loyalty and confidence in her abilities and the Source of them.
***
This evening, Jinx and I passed a silage pit where a discarded tarp was mounded up among some cast-off baling twine. As we drew near the tarp, something moved beneath it, something large enough to lift the tarp a foot or two off the ground. Jinx jumped and whined, then pounced on the tarp. I approached it to see if I could tell what was beneath the white plastic. When I neared where he was standing, Jinx barked at the tarp, then looked at me with eyes wide, as if warning me. He jumped off and ran to me, then trotted out to the road, beckoning me to come with him.
I know better than to ignore a warning from the spotted menace. We walked on, and on the trip homeward, Jinx made a point of passing the tarp without a glance. Who can say?
~ S.K. Orr
