Broken Angel?

We live in a world full of so much we cannot touch or measure.
Our culture demands both for truth. I don't believe that. Probably many of you don't either. To do so is limited at best and at worst, destructive. Angels are messengers. I am no angel, but I am paying attention.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Building a Bench

I do Bonsai. I need a place to do it outside, dirt, clippings tend to mess up the kitchen. So, I built one, a bench that is. We already have a kitchen. Scrap lumber from the basement and one eight foot two by four. I got it all screwed together. Not pretty, but functional. But it wasn't right. It sloped toward one corner. I sat and looked at it, bothered.

Just then six, yep six titmice, that's a bird, came into the back yard and proceeded to comment on everything while they ate and trounced each other and generally acted like a bunch of teen aged boys in a gym class. As I sat wondering and smiling at this display of general disorder and fun I looked up. A humingbird had lighted on a branch above me. It was a dark form, cut out of the bright sky above.

I fixed the bench. No big deal. But the afternoon was transformed. I ought to make mistakes more often.