Photo: Erica Marshall of muddyboots.org
Something catches the periphery vision of my left eye. It moved. And, it was sizable. Tannish. I stopped writing and looked up. I was pretty confident of what the moving object would be. By the time it moved to the the end of the house in front of my breakfast room's large window, it had picked up it's pace. The neighbor's dogs began to bark and she began to run. A large doe. There she went, up the hill into the neighbor's yard, around to the next neighbor's and then into the woods--five deer, including a spotted "Bambi," made an urgent sprint into safety. And I thought of this: Grace.
I had just seen Grace.
Mother Nature is one tough chick. Despite the suburban sprawl encroaching upon her, she still manages to adapt. And thus I have families of deer parading before my home's back windows, gifting me with the privilege of watching them grow. Each year brings a new family. Along with a posse of wild turkeys, and once, a baby red-tailed fox. Yesterday, as I motored up the interstate into town, high above me a gorgeous and spookily prehistoric Blue Heron flapped her wings, it's crooked neck leading her intently to some close-by destination waterside. She might have a brain not much bigger than a pecan, but she could soar above all us humans driving hunks of metal over concrete slabs. This regal-looking species has become common in Tennessee. I've spotted at least one regally perched on a rock in the creek at my subdivision's entrance. Mostly, I see them at the nearby public greenway and the oasis of the intown Radnor Lake State Park.
We named our daughter "Grace" for many reasons. Mutually, because it was the only name her father and I could agree upon. There were the usual inspirations of an old friend in another city who named her child likewise. And then, predating my Grace's mid-90s birth, the late 80s offered boob tube favorite Steven Bochco's LA Law, in which actress Susan Dey's character was affectionately referred to as "Gracie" by her lover. But, my personal favorite was that "grace," to me, is the true definition of God.
So, I sit, butt planted in a chair before a machine, my fingers moving rapidly, and I am graced. Graced by creatures. By beauty. By that of the Divine. And. That. To. Me. Is: True Grace.
This is one of those quickly typed, spur-of-the-moment-inspired posts. I wrote it last week and came back this past weekend to prepare it for publishing. And just as I was about to hit "save," something caught my right eye's periphery vision. A healthy rabbit. She stopped by the back patio's railroad tie railing and munched a bit, looking intently ahead.Next, she stretched her chubby, yet strong hind legs and hopped her way into the woods bordering my yard. Once again: Gifted. Blessed...Graced. (Thank you.)
Okay. What's' going on here? I start editing another post for the week, took a break to microwave some oatmeal (yes, I catch the irony) and as I returned to my desk, sunning themselves in the green patch between the patio and the woods directly across from my breakfast room window, are seven gangly teen turkeys. Returning home, prodigal-style after a wild night in the forest, eh? I may post another time how these awkward birds and their fellow species are symbols to me of my journey here in life. Yes, it's not always as graceful as the lovely blue heron....