The Morning Glory seed. A tiny bit of a triangle. Drop it on the ground and soon there is a fifteen foot vine, with flowers that bloom bright purple that give up their beauty later in the season to create another little triangle of a seed. Think about for a moment. Everything the Morning Glory is and ever will be, springs from a tiny little seed. Isn’t that a miracle? Oh there is cell division and photosynthesis and what not, but the fact that so much beauty erupts from almost nothing is a true miracle.
We think of Miracles as large events, grand scale, move the mountain type of things but most are quiet and small. They fall into the category of ‘the things we take for granted’, the things we expect rather than the wonder of a Miracle in bloom.
That little Morning Glory seed, it can become something or it can blow away in the wind, land where it is forgotten or even when planted loving in Mother Earth does not guarantee it will thrive – it takes a quiet little Miracle to produce a bloom from almost nothing. Maybe we see it as an act of science, maybe we expect the end result and so we think it does not belong in the Miracle category – but it is a Miracle none the less. A quiet one.
Look into the eyes of your dog. She takes in your moods, your faults and turns them to love. She forgives lies, all your shortcomings and every bit of human ignorance and forgives you completely. How is that not a Miracle? A dog. A tiny bit of seed. A sunset. A soulmate for our heart.
We are surrounded by Miracles every day; we just have to have the desire to see them.
The time has come to let go of what was. The trees have told us so with the dropping of their leaves. No more are we to hear the chorus of Robin, Thrush and Vireo in the quiet of predawn; instead we awake to the scream of Blue Jay, the nasal squeak of Nuthatch and Cardinal’s cheerful chipping. Cricket and Frog have gone to ground, replaced by the rattle of leaves dancing their way across the streets and dry brush. But there are still sweet songs to be had and, to me, one of the most beautiful is the hollow honking of Canada Goose and family.
Their song can be heard at any time – in the dark of night, early evening or just at dawn, on a sunny day or in the midst of rain – as they sweep through the skies the constant rambling conversations between the extended family are easily identified even if the telltale ‘V’ is hidden in the clouds. (Their chatter always reminds me of family at a holiday dinner.) Not all travelers have to announce their mission. Snow Goose and some others are not quite so talkative and more businesslike in their migration. And Swan hardly utters a word; if one’s eyes are not skyward at the right time, they will slip by in silence, unseen and undiscovered like an apparition in the mist. But Canada Goose always tells of his intentions, loud and clear.
I know winter is not far behind their journey. Their music tells me it is time to put away the patio furniture, time to thank my potted plants for the beauty they brought to my yard before I release them into the compost and back to Mother Earth from which they came. Fall does bring gifts of her own, nuts and apples and wood smoke and clear starry nights. With the release from the humid nights of summer one can once again enjoy bonfires, hot chocolate, flannel shirts and pumpkins. Misty mornings kissed by a chill. An occasional errand snow flake. An interlude of cleansing, of quiet.
The change of season is a thing I am grateful to witness. I love to see Mother Earth in all her many moods and colors. So when that beautiful song drifts down from the sky, I thank Canada Goose and family for the music and wish them safe travels in their long journey - while I step into my own journey of a new season.