It is the first day of October and the cool, early morning breeze carries a sense of relief. Summer is finally over. Outside the window, be-speckled with dried raindrops, a mourning dove lands in a sunny area, looks left then right, up and down, then stands still on the gravel outside. After only a couple of seconds it flutters with its soft, grey wings up into the safety of a nearby tree. I am wondering about the bird’s thoughts. Why did it choose that spot for its landing and why did it flutter away? What is it, beyond feathers, innards,watchful eyes, beak and feet, that makes a bird?
I've often realized that we, created beings, are walking chemical factories. Beginning as a single cell, saturated with specific instructions on how to develop ~ suddenly a cluster~ exponentially exploding into the creative blueprint we were designed to be. Our matter also becomes a finished, birthed, living thing with a preordained purpose ~ filled with grace and the freedom to pursue life within the parameters of what we are ... beyond matter.
Bird: gatherer, builder of nests, spreader of seed, food for other animals, music.
I plan to find out.
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