Photo by J. Harrington
This morning a different, longer cycle, pattern repeated itself and I discovered something I hadn't really noticed had gone missing. The (re)discovery gave me an unexpected jolt of joy. First, let's think about what gives joy to many of us. For most of us I assume it's things like puppies, kittens, our family's love, the beauty of nature, changing seasons, songs that bring back happy memories and good times, even poetry that beautifully captures feelings we've enjoyed at some time in our life. Some of us find joy in eating local foods, baking bread, and creating something that gives pleasure to others. A few(?) [many?] of us even have soft spots in our hearts for underdogs and cripples.
I'm not much of a reader of the Bible, but I recall a story about the shepherd's joy in finding the sheep that was lost, more than just herding the 99 who stayed pastured. Well, last year or maybe the year before there showed up a gimpy tom turkey who hobbled around the yard trying to keep up with his companions. He was missing one foot and the bottom part of a leg. No clue as to why, but remember, life can be tough for a turkey even when you're young and healthy and hearty and whole.
|turkeys headed into the woods|
Photo by J. Harrington
We've been seeing fewer turkeys in general this Summer so having "Gimpy" missing didn't really register. This morning, though, there were four tom turkeys wandering through the yard. One of them was a limping, gimpy turkey. I'm pretty sure it's "Gimpy." That recognition gave me a warm feeling and a smile I hadn't realized I'd misplaced. Then, on top of that, the sun came out. What a great day so far. I hope yours goes at least as well.
By Stanley Moss
I sing this morning: Hello, hello.I proclaim the bright day of the soul.The sun is a good fellow,the devil is a good guy, no deaths today I know.I live because I live. I do not die because I cannot die.In Tuscan sunlight Masacciopainted his belief that St. Peter’s shadowcured a cripple, gave him back his sight.I’ve come through eighty-five summers. I walk in sunlight.In my garden, death questions every root, flowers reply.I know the dark night of the souldoes not need God’s eye,as a beggar does not need a hand or a bowl.
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Please be kind to each other while you can.