Talk to Me. . . I’ll Listen

I sit on my patio every morning, listening to the birds singing. There is a very oral outspoken finch. It sounds like she’s letting the world know that the sun has risen beginning the new day. It’s a shrilling sound; yet it’s a beautiful sound. It lets me know that God’s nature is living free! Such a wonderful sight. As I sit there listening to the birds, I watch a squirrel come down from the branch of our sturdy Maple and tentatively crawl across the patio border to the small feeder that looks like a picnic table; its tail twittering. Birds scatter. They go to the hanging flower baskets; they go to the hanging feeders. Chirping all the time. On one feeder there are sparrows; on the second, there are finches. We have some mourning doves on the third. The sun rises on the ground, and I see huge, massive birds, solid black. I believe they are crows. If not, they are very large Ravens.

All seem to live together, respecting each other’s territory. All species enjoy the feeder that’s on the ledge shaped like a picnic table. And the mourning doves love this one. But when Mr. Squirrel shows up, they scatter. Because he does not like to share. He loves the picnic table feeder and sits in the middle, daring any bird to approach.

Ah, the sounds of nature. In the morning, they awaken my soul.

I see a small shell. Walking across my lawn. Actually, it’s walking in the flower bed. It’s green and brown. It’s difficult to see camouflaged by the dirt in the garden. I see four tiny legs and a little moving nub sticking out the front. And I realized that it’s a very small baby turtle. And I listen.

Mr. Turtle, where is your voice? Why don’t you join the chorus of God’s nature this morning. And I listen. And I listen. Talk to me, Mr. Turtle.

I remember what Solomon wrote. “The flowers appear on the earth. The time for the singing of the birds is come. And the voice of the turtle. Is heard in our land (2:12).”

I listen!