Two troublesome squirrels chased each other along our backyard fence, running parabolic routes in defiance of gravity and against the stifling winter snow – while the sun came up and decided to shine for the day – lucky blue sky at the end of a month that had been so much less than kind. Then, cutting through Andy’s classical music station, the repeated chirping of a cardinal from the top branches of the seven sons flower tree.
Brilliant, bright crimson against barren branches and bare sky – it brought comfort, even if it was happenstance, even if it knew not what hope it instilled.
Much of life matters because of how we interpret and react to it, what we make of and imprint upon what random and haphazard acts unintentionally seem to intend. On this morning, the cardinal mostly likely was not singing for me, but I felt it was, and that feeling was enough to make it so.
