Reflections

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    A Catholic Christian

    Jinx and I walked this morning under the coverlet of humidity that has parked itself over these mountains and announced that it will not be leaving anytime soon. The crickets and locusts rasped on in a steady note from the damp fronds of green in all directions, and we both walked more slowly than usual. I saw in my missal that today is the feast day of Saint Augustine, the revered Doctor of the Church. I prayed for family members as I walked, and I thought on the sorry things that mar the days in this age. While evil overtakes the Western world, the Roman Catholic Church has paralleled the…

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    No Warmth, No Comfort

    Dorothy Day reveals in her autobiography, The Long Loneliness, that she craved the deep faith and the spiritual discipline she observed among the poor and the immigrants with whom she lived in New York City during her young years as a radical socialist. Many a morning after sitting all night in taverns or coming from balls at Webster Hall, I went to an early morning Mass at St. Joseph’s Church on Sixth Avenue and knelt in the back of the church, not knowing what was going on at the altar, but warmed and comforted by the lights and silence, the kneeling people and the atmosphere of worship. People have so…

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    Something On the Wind

    Something odd occurred this morning when I arrived at work. As has been my custom for years, I took crackers and a few leftover rolls and sprinkled them on the ground for the crows. The black birds were already there waiting for me, perched in the trees ringing the parking lot and atop a couple of the light poles. They watched me with their expressionless faces while I put their breakfast in place, and I went on into the building. About ten o’clock, a fire alarm went off in the building and we all filed out into the parking lot per protocol to wait for the all-clear. I detached myself…

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    The Pages of the Days

    Jinx and I were on the road this morning while it was still dark. Dark in terms of “the sun hadn’t arisen yet,” but not in terms of a lack of light. God held the full moon above us — I believe the almanac named this one a Cold Moon, but in Texas, since it’s occurring in August, it’s a Comanche Moon — and the shadows the dog and I threw on the road were black and stark and eerie. Adding to the atmosphere were a witchy mist floating in the hollers and the calls of screech owls and hoot owls haunting the humid air above the dark fields. During…

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    Full Moon Across the Field

    The almanac tells me that the hummingbirds will begin their annual southward migration this Tuesday. This starts of course in the northern climes where the air begins to cool earlier, and works it way south. We should have a few more weeks to enjoy the little wonders. A little female whom I’ve named Missy has been very busy at the feeder next to our back porch. She defends her turf with ferocity, and when she perches, she drinks deeply and deliberately. Then she zooms off to the woods where I presume her nest is hidden. What I wouldn’t give to be able to peek inside and see the little Tic…

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    A Briefness

    Two acquaintances of mine have died within the past week. One of them died of the China virus, according to the doctors. The other one was killed when he misjudged and turned into the path of an oncoming car. Not wearing a seatbelt, he was ejected from his vehicle and thrown against the unforgiving surface of a suburban street, and he died enroute to hospital. The alleged covidtality and I spoke on the phone a week before his death. His final words to me were, “Goddammit, SK, I don’t understand it. They tell me I’ve got the Covid, but I had both of those damn shots. How in hell can…

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    Small Mysteries, Large Voices, Small Mention

    Behold — I shew you a mystery. We have several hummingbird feeders in our yards, some of them mounted on metal shepherd’s hooks. We’ve learned that the only hummingbird feeders worth having are the ones with a water dam in the top, a sort of cup that holds water and keeps ants from getting onto the feeder. I have to keep careful watch on the feeders, replenishing the water in the dams because it not only evaporates, but also because some of the smaller songbird will drink the water in the tops of the feeders. The other day I must have missed checking on one of the feeders, because when…

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    Century Plus

    My  mother was born one hundred and one years ago today, in the shadow of a small mountain. Tough, taciturn, and tortured woman that she was, she never did anything the world would call notable, but she did something that impressed me. She endured. My sister and I were discussing Mother this morning. We agreed that we’re glad she’s no longer in this world, that she’s not here to see what has become of the country she loved. It would have grieved her beyond measure to see the horror show called American life today. I comfort myself with the hope that I’ll see her again someday, on the other side…

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    A Prayer In Song

    I haven’t listened to John Michael Talbot in a long time.  When I’m in a certain mood, his music is appealing and soothing to me. Talbot apparently used the first part of the phony Covid lockdown to record a CD called “Songs From Solitude.” Here is one of the songs from that CD. And then here’s a song version of the Jesus prayer. My thoughts on this were sparked by recent posts by Bruce Charlton and William Wildblood. I hope these songs give you a sense of peace in your soul. ~ S.K. Orr  

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