Your legs will get heavy and tired.
Then comes a moment of feeling
the wings you’ve grown, lifting.
Be still, my soul, and steadfast.
Earth and heaven both are still watching
though time is draining from the clock
and your walk, that was confident and quick,
has become slow.
So, be slow if you must, but let
the heart still play its true part.
Love still as once you loved, deeply
and without patience. Let God and the world
know you are grateful.
That the gift has been given.
~ Mary Oliver
I’ve definitely become slow and not as steady as I once was like this poet declares, but my heart still thrills to what I find in the garden. My love for flowers like these morning glories is yet deep and strong and steadfast. As the years move on, I may know that my days grow closer and closer to their end, but though I’m not as quick and fleet of foot as I once was, I remain ever grateful for gifts from God and the garden where I feel wings lifting my soul on high.
There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. ~1 Corinthians 12:4 ✝
**Photo of these two morning glories taken in my yard this afternoon at dusk.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds:
And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased
With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave;
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.
The November morn was cool and crisp, and the solitary man playing the bag pipes was standing against the backdrop of changing leaves and flowing water. The mystical sounds of the “pipes” were drifting along on gentle breezes over the whole of a very large park. It was Veterans Day, and the man may have been playing in remembrance of friends or relatives, but it could have been a salutation to the day’s magnificence as well because his harmonies embodied not only touches of the melancholy but also traces of the celebratory. As I watched transfixed and mesmerized by the sounds, he played on at first unaware of my presence behind him. But soon I realized that between the melodies he was slowly turning in a circle and would soon face me and the ones gathering behind me. It was as if he was wanting to address his elegy and/or hymn of praise to all the earth. At each of his turns we who were witnessing the spectacle seemingly became aware that something sacrosanct was moving through us, moving through the “piper”, moving through the pipes, moving through the trees, moving through the water. More than that, one could not help but feel that the sanctity was moving throughout the whole of Creation that was within the sound of his pipes and our vision. I can’t speak for the other observers, but when the “piper” finished “some chord in unison” with what I’d heard and seen had touched me so deeply that my heart replied with tears of sadness for fallen and wounded patriots everywhere and for the joy I’d felt in the beauty of the “piper’s” music.
**I didn’t attempt to take the bag piper’s photo that day because it somehow seemed like an invasion of his privacy. I decided the one above would be equally appropriate for this post since my sister took it on a beach at Normandy where so many fell in WW II while in pursuit of freedom’s calling.
My heart, O God, is steadfast, my heart is steadfast; I will sing and make music. ~Psalm 57:7 ✝