This cardinal and its mate are around our yard often. Am not sure where they are nested, but it must be somewhere close. One morning last week the car, parked as it was in the driveway, was laden with the drops of rain from a fairly heavy rain during the night. The sun’s light was clear in its early morning brightness. The raindrops on the car seemed alive in a sparkling, almost dancing, glisten. There on the roof of the car, in the midst of the drops, sat this cardinal.
Wow!
He and his mate always give me pause.
Through them
I am reminded
to give thanks
for
“small things.”
And,
through them,
I am reminded of a poem,
Plentitude,
as published in her book,
In the Sanctuary of Women:
At lunch today
it was the purple
of the olive pits
against my cobalt plate
that stunned me.
At tea,
the gold of peach
bloodstained by its stone.
I do not know
where the greater part
of the miracle lies:
that I should pause to notice this,
or that I,
a woman of
such great hungers,
should be so well satisfied
by such small things.
BLESSING
May the God of small things
delight you this day.
Thank you cardinal, neighbor.
Thank you, Jan Richardson, wise woman.
Patricia and I will encounter plentitude’s colors, sounds, tastes, and aromas in the months before us in Ireland and beyond. May the God of small things delight us often and often.
May the God of small things delight you, as well.
wells-of-wellness 