This morning, I checked the forecast: sunny and highs in the sixties. Bright and early, not wanting to miss a minute of such optimistic weather, I strapped on my camera and lugged the tripod on my walk, determined to photograph the cardinals I’d seen and heard everywhere the day before.
The dawn was grey at first, the sun not even visible. Twenty minutes later, when the sun finally woke up and showed itself, the tripod had worn out it’s welcome, and the camera was a lead weight. Apparently the cardinals are still adjusting to Daylight Savings Time, because it was another twenty minutes before they woke up.
By then I’d wrestled with the tripod and camera twice – once to photograph a red-headed woodpecker on a telephone pole, and again to capture some wrens setting up housekeeping in a bluebird house up the road a ways. Finally, outside my kitchen door at the end of my walk, a cardinal began singing from the top of our neighbor’s giant spruce.
The tripod, now an experienced traveler, waited patiently while I mounted the camera and started snapping.
One bright red bird, small but able to fill the enormous blue sky with song, reminded me of the tasks on my to do lists this week. I am too small to complete them. They are too elusive for me to capture. But they are the song I’ve been given by the Creator of birds and sky.
In His hand, I can sing.
