![]() | A Cracked Pot | ||
Monday, March 06, 2006IronyIt is Monday. I do not like Mondays. It is a leftover from years ago when I used to work for a, well, let's jut say, a not-nice boss. Ten years of beginning every week with him, enjoying my week-end away from work until I went to bed on Sunday night, and then dreading going in. It's a habit I still find hard to shake, even tho there is no basis for it anymore. In the middle of trying to shake my useless blue funk, I noticed the birds singing their little hearts out. Were they in my laundry room? This did happen once with a baby bird. But this sounds like a whole heavenly choir of birds. I glance nervously about--Nope, none in my house. But they are so loud, they are making the walls of my house seem no longer there. I peer intently out my back door. There are big fluffy flakes of snow coming down. Yet they are singing to me about the impending spring weather that is just around the corner. They are sure of it. I can tell by their chorus of chirping and trilling. They are happy. Even with the frozen ground, the snow already on the ground, more snow coming down, and what I think is very frigid weather to be living outside like a bird.Now that's hope and faith and trust in their Creator. I should take my cues from the birds.... |