In recent days, I’ve made a decision to focus consciously on the good. On the beautiful. That verse from Paul’s letter to the Philippians (4:8) has been echoing in my head: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

I won’t hide my head in the sand and deny reality, and I’ll try to find ways to be helpful.   But I’ll make an effort to look for sunshine amidst the shadows.  So my outlook was fairly positive yesterday as I was sitting at my computer, ordering stamps for our New Year’s cards. I added more of the Winter Woodland Animals to my cart. I love these stamps, which feature a stylized fox, buck, rabbit and owl in snowy settings. 

Then, bang!  There was a sudden thud at the window beside me.  A few wispy white feathers floated in the air.  On the ground was a dark-eyed junco, one of the many that fly down from Canada to winter here in Virginia.  The small, gray and white bird lay on its back, motionless.  It looked utterly helpless, its little legs in the air.  I watched in dismay as it remained there, still.  As I stood at the window, my instinct was to  pray over the bird, in words something like this:  Dear God, your eye is on the sparrow, so your eye must also be on its cousin, the junco.  You made this little miracle creature, so why not heal it?   It’s a miracle of flight.  It’s a miracle that such a tiny being can thrive in this desperately cold weather.  It’s a miracle of elegance and beauty.  

I waited.  Dear God, let me be a conduit of your love, of your healing power.   

The bird remained motionless. 

Should I go out?  Give it the gentlest of nudges?  I decided not to interfere.

And just then, the bird stirred.  It popped up, fluffed its feathers.  It appeared to be gathering its energy, preparing to fly.  It looked fine.  It looked like it was going to be OK. 

Yes, yes, yes!  Thank you, God! 

And just then, there was quick flash of dark feathers, and the little bird was gone.  In horror, I realized I hadn’t been the only one watching the injured junco.  A hawk, hidden from view, had evidently been eyeing its potential prey.  It swooped down and disappeared with its catch. It flew away with the mini-miracle that had just seemed to regain its strength. 

I opened the window and clapped and screamed.  It was too late, of course.  But my anger and anguish needed an outlet.  I yelled myself hoarse.  So much for the sunny side of life. 

I’ve observed nature long enough to have seen first-hand evidence of its sharp teeth and claws, of the thorns among the roses.  I know that the cute bunny on the Winter Woodland stamps may end up as dinner for the equally charming fox or owl.  I regularly see handsome red-shouldered hawks about, silently surveying their surroundings.  They gaze at me coolly, poised and superior.  I get it that my bird-feeding area can occasionally be a death zone.  I see telltale clumps of feathers on the ground.  For several years now, I’ve noticed a solitary dove as it appears before and remains after its fellow partnered couples.  Call me silly and sentimental, but I’ve prayed for that lonely dove, too. 

I considered that the small songbird had been injured more severely than was apparent.  Maybe it would have managed to make its way to a hidden spot, only to suffer a long, drawn-out death.  Perhaps the hawk merely hastened the end while nourishing itself? 

I understand that all creatures, including hawks, need to eat.  I’m not a vegetarian.  I eat chicken, so technically, like a hawk, I prey on birds.  But let the hawks eat elsewhere.  Anywhere but in my side yard sanctuary. 

I keep replaying the events in my head. The abrupt juxtaposition of hope and despair makes the repeating vision particularly painful.  I thought the little bird was a goner, then I thought it had a chance, that it had survived a near miss.  That my prayers had been heard, and answered.  Then I watched as it fell victim to a terrible fate and certain death.   

I can’t help but see the series of incidents as emblematic of life in our times.  Seems we’re entering an era, in our nation and in the world, where predators and tyrants are celebrated and granted free reign, while the most vulnerable are targeted, maligned, and persecuted. 

In my last post, I mused about what loveliness I might be missing just beyond my windows.  Now I wonder what terrible sights I’ve been fortunate to miss.   Will I look out onto a happy haven or a killing field?  Even on the sunny side, the shadows encroach. 

We’re in the midst of a gorgeous, lush spring here in Northern Virginia. Despite the perhaps more than unusually erratic temperature fluctuations, the season’s progress has been moving along at a consistent, stately pace. A fair number of rainy days have no doubt contributed to the luxuriance of flowers and foliage, and in contrast, the periods of sunshine have been all the more glorious.

Our Appalachian Red redbuds, marked by their brilliant fuchsia buds, were in peak bloom toward the end of April.

The lilac in our courtyard generously shares its delightful fragrance, so that we sense its presence even when it’s out of sight.

I love these mayapples, a gift from a garden-wise neighbor. Soon after sprouting, the plants resemble closed umbrellas. The leaves then unfurl, forming a flat canopy. A single white blossom grows beneath the foliage. After blooming, a small apple-like fruit forms, and its weight causes the plant to bow down toward the ground. Box turtles are attracted by the scent, and they spread the seeds (in their poop) along the forest floor. Like other native spring ephemerals, the mayapple is a humble beauty that may be easily overlooked.

Our azaleas, on the other hand, have been boldly emphatic in color and bloom.

Local Kwanzan cherry trees, past their peak, shower the ground below with their pink petals.

This towering jacaranda tree is an unusual one for our neighborhood. A native of South America, it bursts forth in late April with big clusters of fragrant lavender flowers, trumpet-shaped. Its seed pods break into neat halves, each resembling a small boat.

The edges of our courtyard and walkway abound with purple and white violets, bunched together like small, perfect bouquets.

So many of nature’s spring treasures, high above and on the ground below, are there for the seeking. I try to let each one remind me that even when so much of the world is caught up in conflict, animosity and division for its own sake, there is goodness, all around.

Let’s remember to search for, and to savor that goodness. And, when we can’t find it, maybe we need to embody it, to be and share that goodness. It abides with us, no matter what.