Sitting on the back porch on the first day of July, drinking coffee, reading my Bible and my newspaper, listening to the water trickle over the rocks in my small fountain and pond, a chipmunk skitters past, stopping to survey me from his low viewpoint before running off to gather seeds from below the bird feeders. Grackles chase a Blue Jay as they fight for crumbs of suet that have fallen to the ground. Robins roam the yard, looking for worms that lie among the new-mown blades of green grass, wet from the over-night rains.
A pair of House Wrens demand attention as they puff their feathers and shake their wings and hop along the garden’s split rail fence.
I return to my reading only to be distracted once again by a soft whir announcing the arrival of a hummingbird to one of the many feeders in the yard. I find that it is the one I’ve taken to calling “Little Man”. He is smaller than the other male who frequents our yard and he hovers at the feeder, drinking deeply before quickly darting away; a blur in his speed.
A Pandora Sphinx Moth joins me at the table, no doubt tired from a night of carousing, drawn to the warm glow of the porch light bulb hanging overhead.
A pair of squirrel chatter loudly in a neighbor’s tree and two Mourning Doves wings’ whistle melodically as they take flight and disappear around the corner of the house.
I wish every day could begin like this. I really do. Of course, I recognize that a quiet Saturday morning on the back porch only comes once a week as work and life crowd in, resulting in early morning commutes and late night meetings, keeping me from this oasis. But I also know it is here, waiting for me when I return. It calls to me…and for that, I’m so very grateful.