In the small wood near our house, the cicadas began singing early just before the light appeared. Then, as the dawn breaks, the various species of birds crisscross the sky for their morning feeding. I’m not a good bird watcher, but it looked like swallows or martins were predominant. Somewhere, wings fluttered, probably a sparrow lighting on the wall behind me.
At the edge of the wood, a heavier bird, perhaps a kite, weighed down a light branch. I caught only a glimpse of a wing. The woods were still, no breeze to stir even a leaf, but the air had that sharpness still from the night’s coolness.
My attention is divided between the page of Galatians 6, from my Bible in my lap, and the still greenness before me, somber and soothing, with the quiet zigzagging of the sharp avian outlines against the crawl of dark hues of clouds dispersing with the arrival of King Sol for his reign.
God in the book, the Creator in his creation.
So begins the day.