“What is THAT? STOP!”
He jerks to a stop right there in the road. I fumble for my camera while I keep my focus on Lake Abby.
I snap a couple of pictures of the black and white bird that floats in the center.
We have no idea what it is.
Pastor talks about the church today. And how we are His workmanship, his handiwork, His masterpieces.
One-of-a-kind works of art, each with our own part to play.
Our own place to shine.
Stained glass shimmers, and I think how each of us is stained and broken.
Scooped and shaped into works of art designed to do good works.
Not to earn His favor but to spill His grace.
To bleed His colors.
Some days I feel trapped. Glued to a life I didn’t plan or anticipate.
You’d think someone my age would have more freedom.
But I’m not sure how to break loose, to fly.
Or if I even should.
Or want to.
So I just try to stay in the center.
Anyway, After church and lunch, we see the whatever-it-is still floats in the pond.
Waiting for me.
I don high boots to make my way over broken corn and cattail stalks and squish through mud for a closer look. I ignore the brush of teasel that snags my slacks.
A pair of geese sound their disapproval as I approach.
It’s some kind of duck. All alone. It floats and dives. Makes it hard to focus. I snap until the camera battery dies.
Later we look it up in the Audubon Field Guide. There it is. A bufflehead duck–short for buffalo head. A small little guy with an odd-shaped head. Only weighs about a pound, we read. Stunning in its black and white. It paddles and dives in the center of our pond all day.
A masterpiece of creation who could take off and fly away at will. But whose only purpose and work today seems to be to give me joy.
I could take a lesson from that duck.
Counting the Gifts.
A slice of lemon meringue pie.
Summer in March.
Night sounds through open windows. Is this really Michigan?
A pair of mallards in the back yard.
Swinging with a grandgirl.
Yellow forsythia in bloom.
Girls playing with a hose.
More new books.
A tall glass of iced green tea.
Cooking on the grill.
The sound of a lawnmower.
An ever-changing morning sky.