If you’re not already aware, the early Saturday morning hours are the best hours of my week. Solitude in God’s grace that I am allowed one more day to do something that matters – if only to me – as regards my little rectangular path.
The morning pits vastly opposing ends: the sweetness of a vocal bird community that copes despite our efforts to reduce their tree canopy to twigs vs. the reality of litter and junk that despoils our shared environment.
The birds operate above, I work below. I’d like to think that there is some tangible benefit to them for every piece of refuse removed from harm’s way. Exactly what that might be, I don’t know. Somehow we are tossed in this together, the birds and us. Our habitat is the less for what you and I find to our chagrin along our routes.
So Saturdays are what they are. An opportunity to atone for our carelessness and disregard for the world we share with other things. I hope the birds, and their wild kidded spirits, can forgive us. They can probably do so a bit easier than me.