bluebirds...

Today's sunshine is all the more glorious given that for two days this area was pummeled and pelted with severe winter-like hailstorms. The hail took many of us by surprise. I was outside, headed home, when the pebble-sized hail began its assault. A little bluebird lay on its back on the ground. My heart broke. I wanted to reach down and touch the exposed belly, and bring that bird back to life. Had it been overcome by the storm? Life is such a precious gift.

How do we as human beings respond to the unexpected? Do we welcome change? Do we fear it? Are we overcome when bad things happen? Does part of us die when assaulted by seemingly insurmountable circumstances?

Today is a beautiful day. The sun is shining. People are walking about. Edith and I bumped into each other. She is one of my neighbors, though we had not seen each other in months. Both of us are transplanted East-Coasters. This feisty eighty year old raged against the dying of the light. I walked with her to the bench. We sat. She ate her milky-way bar and vented. I wanted to kiss her on the cheek and speak of heaven. Instead, I listened. After all, who am I that I should dare speak of lofty matters? Maybe it is enough to remain silent, but present?

Storms come and go.

Edith told me about a trip she was going to take next week to the coast. She said she wanted to see it one last time before her operation. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I am going blind." She said. Her response humbled me. She asked if she should even bother making the trip. 'Oh, yes," I answered, "make the trip. You deserve a vacation, and the coast is beautiful." We both sat on the bench and watched the people walk by. I thought of the time in my life when I had lived on the coast, and the hours I had spent sitting by the ocean. I never imagined those water-rich days would ever come to an end. I had been so spoiled at the time. Maturity is the most priceless of gems.

I looked into Edith's eyes. I didn't see a time-worn face. I saw only beauty. Edith was a little child on her way home. Maybe, she and I had met after school? Perhaps we bought bubble gum, and exchanged stories of our father?

Ironically, Edith had not always thought of me as friend. But, maybe when we remain true to our path, it is possible for people to find their way back to us, as we continue the journey together through all of life's storms. And, if we endure patiently, we might even enjoy a milky-way bar on a park bench, in the sunshine, at rainbow's end.