My orni-theology
God is flying to tell me something.
On a recent Saturday I worked beyond the point of exhaustion. Not to. Beyond. Never mind exactly on what. I like to think it was for a good cause, though that is debatable and not the point here. The point is: I so believed outcome x needed to happen that I was willing to do violence to myself to make it happen. That may sound melodramatic to you, but the fact is at the end of the day I felt battered, and the other fact is I do this to myself way more than I wish. Maybe you do, too.
That Sunday I woke up needing sabbath like the state of California needs a week of rain. I read a little, ate a light breakfast, then went for a walk. There’s a pasture near our house, with a barbed-wire fence, and as I came to it, six goldfinches flittered up from the wire and began playing in the air. They were flying without aim, more like dancing really, chasing each other, bouncing around on air. Four were males, I think, their spring mating yellow so brilliant, almost neon, that I imagined them having spent the night plugged into a battery charger. They’d return to the barbed wire and talk things over a bit, then fly away again. In my mind I took off my shoes.
