A Number of Things

 

One of my favorite weekend things is to lie in my hammock. I can’t enjoy it nearly as much if I have a long list of things to do, so I do my long list first and then allow myself an hour or so of relaxation and reflection. I nearly always have a book with me, but sometimes I just watch and listen.

This weekend, it was a little cloudy and cool so I took along an afghan my mom crocheted for me years ago. As I lay there, all cozy and relaxed, I heard a hawk circling and circling high above. In the maple nearby, chickadees and finches twittered and hopped about. A red-bellied woodpecker flew from tree to tree emitting a somewhat harsh cry that I have come to love because he’s such a handsome fellow.  I looked across the yard and saw a hummingbird enjoying the pink and yellow lantana.

I read a bit of the book I had brought, took a few minutes to explore something on my phone, then watched and listened some more. In the distance, a train whistle blew. Neighbors chatted nearby and fussed at the dog, and right next to me on the tree, a brown inchworm made his careful way along the trunk. He was just the color of the tree, and I would not have seen him except for his movement. He extended his body, caught hold of a bit of the rough and uneven bark, then pulled his back feet up to the front, forming a perfect loop time after time.  The worm and I were now in shade, but the sun still danced and glittered in the upper leaves of nearby maples.

It was not an unusual day, and yet it was truly remarkable. Robert Louis Stevenson said, “The world is so full of a number of things/I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.” Indeed we should.

I have been reviewing Psalm 19 this week: “The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech and night unto night showeth knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard.” Ain’t it the truth? “The world is charged with the grandeur of God,” declared the poet. In spite of sorrow and suffering, this is a beautiful and magnificent world.

What will heaven be?

--Sherry Poff