Two images on a day of broken and damaged hearts, world news that makes my own heart sigh, and a sunrise feather gifted. It seems we are forever looking back to a manger, a burning bush, a Bodhi tree, or some other promise of peace, love, and hope. To be sure, thousands of years later, their promises resonate within our hearts. To be sure I give thanks to those who have embraced their promises and work tirelessly and without ego to offer their nurturing sustenance to the world and earth.  But still…

Feathers delight me in a way I cannot explain. I ponder the feather and think of how it gives the pigeon its color, flight, warmth, and life itself. I think I would cling most vigilantly to each one. The pigeon left the gift by my door.

I close my eyes and offer a prayer that more than looking back to promises, more than looking forward to what I hope would be, may I have the grace of a pigeon and those who left such promises. They are not promises of someday. They are the way the day and world demands now in this moment.

Opening my eyes, my heart wonders how a scrich could convey the heart. And there, where it was not before my eyes closed, sits the moon. Caressing the illumination, the softness of the tree’s own feathers. I wish I could write the whisper. Perhaps it is a bookmark. Perhaps it is but a gentle caress to stir the whisper within you. And so I shall leave this as it is. Amen.