Looking Up

I went for a walk this morning and then sat on the front porch bench. The sun warmed my jeans, and I could smell the neighbor’s fresh cut grass. Geraniums were in full bloom in the planters, unlike the ones on the back deck, which the squirrels had dug up and tossed aside. (I think they were looking for nuts I had given them a few days ago. I had emptied a package of stale cashews, leaving them too many to eat and so they had buried some and, based on their frantic diggings, had lost them. I’m not complaining; my memory’s like that some days, too.)

There wasn’t much of a breeze today, and the flag hung limply, jutting out to let passersby know that a proud American lives here --- or, as some studies show, an old person lives here, and may be easy pickings for those inclined to rob. But I don’t consider myself old, or at least I feel that God has things for me to do and likely still wants me here for a while. And when He gets around to telling me what those things are, I’ll get up off this bench.

My grass is pretty brown, and looks dead. But it’s not; it’ll come back. It’s just taking a rest during this dry spell. I guess I’m kind of like that, in some ways. Likely early next week, when some rain storms are predicted, it will take on some shade of green again, letting me know that it hasn’t given up. And even if the summer dryness drags on, I know it will be bright green again next spring. I guess I’m kind of like that, too, waiting for greener times, and confident that they will come.

Hummingbirds visit the hanging planters throughout the morn. Like big blue bees, they like the fuchsia plant flowers, but never choose to visit the flowers that open on the side of the plant, always choosing the ones hanging down. Perhaps they like looking up to be fed.

I guess I’m kind of like that, too.