With the Persimmon tree turning to red and gold, our gardener has chosen to fertilize the lawns in time for the rains. The birds are now madly attracted to our patch of grass and flock to glean their share of the newly planted seed. Should I approach to snap a picture they fly off to the adjacent bushes and pretend not to be near, eying me watchfully to ensure that I am completely gone before venturing back and starting their chorus again.
That old Flamingo is left over from our daughter's Alice in Wonderland 18th Birthday Party. It is getting sorry and faded now the last of a stand that pervaded the grounds on that momentous occasion.
Can you spy Ten Little Dickie Birds?
I don’t begrudge those birdies on the lawn
Scarfing up the seed the gardener’s sown,
They make me think of Rabbie’s little mouse
Uprooted from his house inside the loam.
What we intend to beautify our home
They flock to steal in such a merry throng,
Caring not to sow or reap or store
But fill the garden air with chirping song.
Should I approach to see they flee away,
Or tap the glass beside my window seat
The doves rise up and mournfully complain
That I should stop their “gleaning of the wheat”
Surmise I then that I am but the slave
That serves the Master who all things provides
Who feeds the birds and decks the lily fair
And gently my possessive nature chides.
I’m set to wonder was it not the birds
Who gathered in the seeds so widely strewn?
Then shed them so they grew for us to find
Not far away from places we called home.
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?
So Ruth stayed close to the servant girls of Boaz to glean until the barley and wheat harvests were finished. And she lived with her mother-in-law