I have a new neighbor. He and his wife just moved in a couple of weeks ago. I have not met them yet.
My new neighbor is a hunter and likes to practice his bow shooting off his back porch. I am not a big fan of this practice but I don’t suppose there is much I will say or can do.
I was amused the other day when I looked into his backyard and saw a new target had been set up behind the rather obvious hay-filled square with tiny circles painted on its surface. The new target is a big brown turkey, the kind you might see in the wild. It is a handsome bird, and quite resembles a real live Tom.
It is rather a strange thing to see this rather strange Styrofoam turkey standing as ‘idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean’ in my neighbor’s yard. Birds are not lifeless, statues. They are fluid, free and flying. What sort of a bird stands still? (A dead one.) I would guess that such a turkey in the wilderness would be a rather easy target. Give that turkey some real legs and motivation and see how easy of a target it would be!
_________________________
I lived in a small town in West Virginia for a while where the main staple of economic life is the Turkey and Chicken business. Our front yard was perpetually white from all the feathers that blew off the truckloads of poultry that rolled by our house at all hours of the night and day. If I had lived in that town a day past when we left I would probably have become a vegetarian. Frankly, it was a sickening thing to see all those birds trapped in steel cages on the back of tractor trailers.
It was bad enough knowing that they were not being taken to a zoo or a nice marshy pond; it was even worse knowing that everyone in town either raised the birds or worked at the slaughterhouse. I am not anti-raising/selling/slaughtering/eating poultry. But it sure was a sad sight to see every day. Even today, although I have sworn off vegetarianism, I still have trouble eating turkey and chicken.
_________________________
I drove to Mentor today with the boys. I was distracted and in some sort of trance, I think. I had some errands to run—like, I really needed an eye exam. Happily we drove along the road until we came to the exit required to take us to the appropriate store where we would conduct our business.
We arrived rather quickly at the necessary exit. I blinked my intentions to the cars around and pulled my vehicle into the off ramp lane. I decreased my rate of speed and casually rolled around the cloverleaf exit ramp. At the top of the ramp I brought the vehicle to a stop with a deft use of my right foot. (I pressed the brake pedal.) As I came to a standstill I happened to let my eyes wander forward and upward. As I did I caught glimpse of something hovering in circles some distance away. It was some sort of bird, likely a hawk of some species. I watched for about 15 seconds or so.
I thought to myself that that bird had it made. Flying around up there in the sky, high above all the madness that is life, just enjoying the cool breeze beneath his wings, the bird crystallized, even if for a mere moment, what I long for most in life. He had none of the worries I had. He was not thinking of needing new contact lenses or a new shower curtain. He was not thinking of the light turning green so he could move on to the next one. He just flew and flew.
He was free. His next paycheck was not a concern. He did not have to worry about being on time or late for work. He was free to come and go as he pleased. He did not care about the music I was listening to, or whether or not he had the latest greatest new compact disk. He only concern was simply to fly and be free.
____________________________
I had to work in the yard the other day. Trimming weeds one last time. Putting things away. Cleaning gutters. Etc.
I had to take down all the bird feeders and dump out the hummingbird food. I had to prepare the yard and myself for the reality that the birds will gone for several months.
____________________________
It is nearly fall—I suspect that today is the first day of fall—and you know what I miss the most? The birds seem to have gone. There are a few left here and there—across the street I have been enjoying a large flock of Canadian Geese—even the Canadian Geese like living in America—but mostly they are gone. I have not seen any hummingbirds recently nor have I seen any goldfinches or orioles. A few cardinals remain at hand, but the robins seem to have flown the coup so to speak. The other day I noticed about a thousand birds sitting on the electrical wires across the street, but I sure couldn’t tell you what kind birds they were. They were birds.
______________________________
Funny thing is, I only just noticed today that the birds have been absent. I so enjoy their songs. Maybe I have just tuned them out for a while or maybe I just forgot about them. There have not been too many open window days around the house recently because the temperature has been unbelievably low and I don’t want to turn the furnace on just yet. So, maybe there are birds and I simply have not had the time to notice them; or, maybe they are gone after all.
________________________________
Birds have it made. They fly and thus get to enjoy the world from a different perspective. They sing and thus the whole earth is full of their music. They mostly travel with friends and thus show us the benefits of numbers. If I could be any other creature than what I am now, I would choose to be a bird. Not because I would get to fly, but maybe because I would get to perch on an electrical wire and not get shocked; or, better yet, because we have been told that not a sparrow falls to the ground apart from the Father’s knowledge. That’s special. Imagine being such an intricate part of creation, such a cared for species that not a single one falls dead without God knowing it. (Although, I believe I have remarked elsewhere that this undoubtedly means that God spends a good portion of his ‘day’ thinking about death, and marking in His mind all the sparrows that did fall. I am not certain I would like to have that job.)
______________________________
I don’t want to rush the fall and winter because I like the cooler weather, but I kind of cannot wait until spring. I can’t wait to get out all the birdfeeders and buy seeds all summer long so I can feed them—as if they need my help to find food. (Remember, they don’t reap or store up in barns and yet they are fed by God.) I cannot wait to hear their songs again. If it is terrible to have to count all those dead birds each day, certainly it must be, at minimum, offset by the songs He hears all year long without ceasing. That is a trade-off I would be willing to take.
I was thinking about birds today while I listened to some music. “They that wait upon the Lord, shall renew their strength…they will soar on wings like eagles…”
It seems that it is always about birds. “All the birds of the sky are singing/you got to understand/Eleutheria.” (Lenny Kravitz)
That’s it. Eleutheria. (It’s a Greek word that means ‘freedom’.)
Freedom. If I said, ‘This is for the birds’ I would be lying.
Eleutheria is for me; and you, if you want it.
That’s what I am trying to say.
I’m ready to—sing. (I’m afraid to fly.)
My new neighbor is a hunter and likes to practice his bow shooting off his back porch. I am not a big fan of this practice but I don’t suppose there is much I will say or can do.
I was amused the other day when I looked into his backyard and saw a new target had been set up behind the rather obvious hay-filled square with tiny circles painted on its surface. The new target is a big brown turkey, the kind you might see in the wild. It is a handsome bird, and quite resembles a real live Tom.
It is rather a strange thing to see this rather strange Styrofoam turkey standing as ‘idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean’ in my neighbor’s yard. Birds are not lifeless, statues. They are fluid, free and flying. What sort of a bird stands still? (A dead one.) I would guess that such a turkey in the wilderness would be a rather easy target. Give that turkey some real legs and motivation and see how easy of a target it would be!
_________________________
I lived in a small town in West Virginia for a while where the main staple of economic life is the Turkey and Chicken business. Our front yard was perpetually white from all the feathers that blew off the truckloads of poultry that rolled by our house at all hours of the night and day. If I had lived in that town a day past when we left I would probably have become a vegetarian. Frankly, it was a sickening thing to see all those birds trapped in steel cages on the back of tractor trailers.
It was bad enough knowing that they were not being taken to a zoo or a nice marshy pond; it was even worse knowing that everyone in town either raised the birds or worked at the slaughterhouse. I am not anti-raising/selling/slaughtering/eating poultry. But it sure was a sad sight to see every day. Even today, although I have sworn off vegetarianism, I still have trouble eating turkey and chicken.
_________________________
I drove to Mentor today with the boys. I was distracted and in some sort of trance, I think. I had some errands to run—like, I really needed an eye exam. Happily we drove along the road until we came to the exit required to take us to the appropriate store where we would conduct our business.
We arrived rather quickly at the necessary exit. I blinked my intentions to the cars around and pulled my vehicle into the off ramp lane. I decreased my rate of speed and casually rolled around the cloverleaf exit ramp. At the top of the ramp I brought the vehicle to a stop with a deft use of my right foot. (I pressed the brake pedal.) As I came to a standstill I happened to let my eyes wander forward and upward. As I did I caught glimpse of something hovering in circles some distance away. It was some sort of bird, likely a hawk of some species. I watched for about 15 seconds or so.
I thought to myself that that bird had it made. Flying around up there in the sky, high above all the madness that is life, just enjoying the cool breeze beneath his wings, the bird crystallized, even if for a mere moment, what I long for most in life. He had none of the worries I had. He was not thinking of needing new contact lenses or a new shower curtain. He was not thinking of the light turning green so he could move on to the next one. He just flew and flew.
He was free. His next paycheck was not a concern. He did not have to worry about being on time or late for work. He was free to come and go as he pleased. He did not care about the music I was listening to, or whether or not he had the latest greatest new compact disk. He only concern was simply to fly and be free.
____________________________
I had to work in the yard the other day. Trimming weeds one last time. Putting things away. Cleaning gutters. Etc.
I had to take down all the bird feeders and dump out the hummingbird food. I had to prepare the yard and myself for the reality that the birds will gone for several months.
____________________________
It is nearly fall—I suspect that today is the first day of fall—and you know what I miss the most? The birds seem to have gone. There are a few left here and there—across the street I have been enjoying a large flock of Canadian Geese—even the Canadian Geese like living in America—but mostly they are gone. I have not seen any hummingbirds recently nor have I seen any goldfinches or orioles. A few cardinals remain at hand, but the robins seem to have flown the coup so to speak. The other day I noticed about a thousand birds sitting on the electrical wires across the street, but I sure couldn’t tell you what kind birds they were. They were birds.
______________________________
Funny thing is, I only just noticed today that the birds have been absent. I so enjoy their songs. Maybe I have just tuned them out for a while or maybe I just forgot about them. There have not been too many open window days around the house recently because the temperature has been unbelievably low and I don’t want to turn the furnace on just yet. So, maybe there are birds and I simply have not had the time to notice them; or, maybe they are gone after all.
________________________________
Birds have it made. They fly and thus get to enjoy the world from a different perspective. They sing and thus the whole earth is full of their music. They mostly travel with friends and thus show us the benefits of numbers. If I could be any other creature than what I am now, I would choose to be a bird. Not because I would get to fly, but maybe because I would get to perch on an electrical wire and not get shocked; or, better yet, because we have been told that not a sparrow falls to the ground apart from the Father’s knowledge. That’s special. Imagine being such an intricate part of creation, such a cared for species that not a single one falls dead without God knowing it. (Although, I believe I have remarked elsewhere that this undoubtedly means that God spends a good portion of his ‘day’ thinking about death, and marking in His mind all the sparrows that did fall. I am not certain I would like to have that job.)
______________________________
I don’t want to rush the fall and winter because I like the cooler weather, but I kind of cannot wait until spring. I can’t wait to get out all the birdfeeders and buy seeds all summer long so I can feed them—as if they need my help to find food. (Remember, they don’t reap or store up in barns and yet they are fed by God.) I cannot wait to hear their songs again. If it is terrible to have to count all those dead birds each day, certainly it must be, at minimum, offset by the songs He hears all year long without ceasing. That is a trade-off I would be willing to take.
I was thinking about birds today while I listened to some music. “They that wait upon the Lord, shall renew their strength…they will soar on wings like eagles…”
It seems that it is always about birds. “All the birds of the sky are singing/you got to understand/Eleutheria.” (Lenny Kravitz)
That’s it. Eleutheria. (It’s a Greek word that means ‘freedom’.)
Freedom. If I said, ‘This is for the birds’ I would be lying.
Eleutheria is for me; and you, if you want it.
That’s what I am trying to say.
I’m ready to—sing. (I’m afraid to fly.)
