Yesterday I found an old writing notebook. In it, among other things, I found this handwritten meditation, written early one morning from our home in Avondale Estates, GA. AE is a eastern suburb of Atlanta - a suburb that is so close in, it is inside the perimeter highway. Jim served the Avondale-Patillo Unite Methodist Church there for 4 years, and we lived in the beautiful parsonage there. Here is a transcription of that meditation:
The morning is warm and still. The sound of distant traffic accompanies the nearer sound of birds and crickets waking up. Now I hear an OWL! Some of the birdsongs are demanding and shrill; others are melodious and soothing. One repeats a 4-note oo-lee-oo-lie, ending on a high, questioning note; another continues a ratch-ratch-ratch refrain that sounds like sandpaper at work. A raucous crow calls now and again from the neighbors' trees.
Looking around I see few of the creatures whose songs have made their presence clearly felt and known this morning. The tall pines appear to house only the very gentle breezes, which causes only the topmost branches to sway ever so slightly against the morning's silver sky. Motion in a lower branch causes me to look more carefully and observe a large Robin perched there. As if sensing my prying eyes, she flies away to a more distant perch, and the tree grows still once again.
Looking up into the pine branches over my yard, I can see silver drops from last night's rain lingering on the tips of pine needles. As the breeze stirs, the drops are dislodged, creating the beautiful brief rustle of a summer rain shower as they drop on the hardwood trees and bushes below.
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