Inevitable

 

Inevitable

I headed out the front door this morning for my morning walk, but for ten minutes I never made it out of my driveway.  The sunrise just demanded an audience.  The last shades of night were still settled in the sky, but the eastern horizon revealed the promise of a new day.  The glow intensified.  Only God knew for certain if day would happen, but it seemed inevitable.  And then, just at the very edge of the horizon the flames flared upwards, just like it was for St Patrick on the Hill of Slane.

From the ponds ahead came the honking of hundreds of geese was becoming more urgent.  I got a quick view before suddenly several groups took flight.  During the summer there was an occasional lone goose, perhaps one of the parents who would fly out to feed while its mate tended the offspring.  Or later, as the young could take flight, family groups crisscrossed the ponds.  In September I noticed that two, perhaps three family groups would fly out to feed together.  But today, the small flocks seemed nearer fifty, and a couple large skeins of a hundred or more were in the air simultaneously, but they seemed all headed in different directions.  I noticed that, while hundreds of geese had taken flight, the volume of honking heard across the pond still spoke of a significant number still scattered across the scene. 

There was a bonus sighting today as a pocket in the cattails in the far side revealed six tundra swans that graced the landscape.  I know of two lakes in northern Wisconsin where pairs of swans have raised families for the last five season, and I was speaking with a friend who lives west of here who has a family using the Wolf River near his home.  It is a growing blessing then, that some seem to be staying here for the entire season.

Yesterday, at dusk, I was out in the yard.  The entire sky seemed filled with sandhill cranes and their raucous calls.  In the spring a couple hundred cranes gather in the last of the snowdrifts and wait here until the winter ice finally melts off.  Then they pair off and set up housekeeping.  In the fall, those that were scattered begin to come together.  Their numbers will swell into the hundreds as they stage for the big migration.  They’re usually the dominant voice in the evening, and very early in the morning.  I must have been too late to hear the full orchestra this morning, but like the geese, cranes were breaking off in different directions. 

I hear a hard chirp and turn to see a single redwing blackbird perched on the overhead wires.  I don’t know if he has been dawdling and got left behind, or if he deliberately held back.  But he and all of the waterfowl filling the pond and the harvested farm fields, and the air itself will one day soon begin the big flight.  It’s inevitable. 

The sun has swept the last of night away and the sky is turning bright blue.  The leaves of the oaks are ripening from bronze to purplish.  Lastly they will turn brittle and brown, but for now they give a depth to the blueness of the sky, and the sky returns the favor.  The maples are already half-empty, while the aspens stand stark, like skeletons of trees.  Soon though, almost all the leaves will pile deep on the floor of the woodlots.  It is inevitable. 

With my morning prayers finished, and my left hip getting sore, I turn for home.  The weather is supposed to turn tonight as a cold front sweeps through from Canada with strong winds and scattered cold rains.  We’ve been living a bit on borrowed time, but it was inevitable that the harsher truth of this season would catch up with us.  But, that’s not happening until dark; meanwhile, this is the day the Lord has made; let’s us rejoice and be glad in it!

On such a morning, recognizing all of the blessings received from God and being grateful was necessary; it was inevitable.

His Peace <><

Deacon Dan