I'm not wild about geese. On the city land behind our house, a pond attracts lots of Canadian geese. They enjoy strolling into our yard and coating it with goose scat (is that what it's called?). I prefer watching the heron that sometimes wades in the shallows, or the deer that often wander across the woods on the far side of the pond, or even the bunnies that romp all over our yard, even though they sneak into my vegetable garden.
But today I was at my desk working on some edits. When I write new copy, I don't usually play any music, but for the slow, methodical work of proofing and answering small questions, I clicked on my iTunes onto shuffle mode.
A beautiful flute concerto played, helping my brain cells dance and stay alert.
As I paused to sip tea and looked up from my manuscript, it happened.
During a sweeping phrase of the concerto - light and fluttering and airborne - a flock of geese flew in to land on the pond. Their wings synchronized for a few seconds with the meter of the music. The water sparkled as they made contact, and the splashes matches the trills of the flute.
It took my breath away.
Lord, give me a new soundtrack for all the mundane and annoying things in my life. Help me hear the orchestra of your love and grace which transforms a simple, common scene into a moment of transcendant beauty.
Thank you for creating geese, after all.
Blessings!
Sharon Hinck
author of THE SECRET LIFE OF BECKY MILLER (Bethany House, 2006)
1 comments:
We call it goose grease, but I don't think it's the technically correct term! ;)
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