In the often overwhelming a-lot-ness that is life, I can always, always, always be brought back to the joy of the present moment by birds. Though I wasn’t able to get my own photos of them while bicycling, here are a couple of highlights from my bird sightings this past weekend on my retreat to Belle Plaine with Benjamin.
Prairie Oaks Institute (the wonderful retreat center that hosted our weekend) has built several bluebird houses to rejuvenate the local population of this marvelous songbird.
I’m not quite as adept at identifying water birds or birds of prey, but I was 90% sure we witnessed a great blue heron taking flight just north of the Minnesota River crossing. What a majestic creature, even when it is struggling against a mighty cross wind.
And, for your reading pleasure and inspiration because it is so very charming, the title poem by Emily Dickinson:
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.