This morning a bird I could not name spanned a sun I could not tame and on the road the dazzled day turned and turned its winding way. Through chicanes, past milkbars ran the path to work, the time to plan, but I was struck by birds in view on Kookaburra Avenue.
And God I'm sure made birds to fly both for their sake, and yours and mine. In dying days we see these dreams and wait for life to burst its seams. In ordinary time we catch the moment when we see the latch of heaven's door creak open, wide. Wipe dust from street; come, come inside.
Meanwhile, pluck tomatoes ripe from the garden. Watch the quinces shed their fur, turn late-summer-yellow, and burst with promise while cockatoos eye them off. Check the peaches. See the opening flowers on the lemon tree. Cut the roses, deck the table. Water, plant and wait. Number days and count the joys and trust that tears shall cease.