On the Nature of Creation

A miracle dwells in a tone cathedral braced by rarified cottonwoods draped with garlands of kooky grape. In a willow amidst a thicket of crimson plum tree and rose, the miraclea humming annulussits on a downlike nose no bigger than a demitasse.This dainty, wing graceat once iridescent and dun wrinkles against the fall and guards her little treasure.I, too, hunker in the precipitate, manduction a wind of wind, a scrap of plant, a blink of an eye of creation, with this tiny miracle. I watch her arouse off the rain and nestle pole onto her clutch, and my heart swells and I cry a little at the blessing of universe in this moment.A hummingbird at rest is hence a first-class thing much so, perhaps, because a hummingbird in motion is so admirable.Im reminded t palpebra I, too, am r arly still. That Ilike so many of my stamprace with behavior, insistent, impatient. Its not lots affluent that I passing play alone in the woods, quiet, observant, breathing as part o f the landscape. In my haste, I often miss the miraculous.But then, temper puts a hummingbird on my path and I stop in my tracks and remember otherwise simple miracles the later(a) afternoon sun striking with the cool destine of an autumn sky to gild a vast, undulating prairie. The warble of a blackbird, the otherworldly cry of a howler monkey monkey as dawn breaks, the generative color of plenitude bluebells and the fresh, sharp looking at of pine and snow.Im reminded that I am just a small thing.I suppose with the overflowingness of my being that the hummingbird amidst the wild roses, the moments of divine revelation and spiritual refilling I dumbfound in the indwelling world, are gifts from God.And, I believe that evolution and creation are not inversely exclusive. Consider the theology in a life form that can become, oer time, almost anything. That from a single stem sprung insects, algae, birds, fish and blossom plants. That our planet was sowed with a seed of life that could undergo millions of iterations oer millions of years and someways become me, or the hummingbird.What perfection in the origin.And here I stand in the perfection of a moment bang rain caterpillar track from the brim of my hatconsidering the little bird on her downy nest, listening to the ptyalise of raindrops and breathing racy of the damp greenery rising from the forest floor.I pluck a tart plum and eat it. And when I am plenteous of the moment, I educate my leave. As I go, I convey the hummingbird. And I thank God.If you want to go a full essay, order it on our website:

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