Walk with me this Earth Day

A love note from my neighborhood birdwatching spot

One of the Red-winged Blackbird chorus members who serenaded me

On my morning walk alongside the ponds at the Denver Audubon today, I encountered no less than five species of birds, a turtle, a rabbit, a swarm of flying insects, a few pill bugs, and a stunning display of green, as plants burst forth from the earth, well-watered by last weekend’s quintessential Colorado late-spring snowfall.

I felt drawn to this exquisitely beautiful place on my drive home from dropping my daughters at school. It had been too long since I had stopped for a stroll, though I was here on Easter for a sunrise service. I realized on Sunday, as the sun crested over the horizon, how badly I had missed it.

Celebrating Eucharist at sunrise on Easter

Unbeknownst to me as I ventured out this morning (though I suspect at some deep subconscious level, my body remembered), today happens to be Earth Day. (Because of course it is!)

Again and again, as I circled the reed-lined ponds, the Earth called to me.

I watched one Canada Goose chasing another, flapping its wings wildly while running across the pond, its webbed feet smacking against the water’s smooth surface.

I was delightfully startled by a Great Blue Heron taking flight from its marshy hiding place.

And at one point, I found myself amidst a chorus of Red-winged Blackbirds. Their voices came toward me from every direction as they exuberantly sang to one another, a joyful symphony.

Mary Oliver writes,

I do not know what gorgeous thing
the bluebird keeps saying,
his voice easing out of his throat,
beak, body into the pink air
of the early morning. I like it
whatever it is. Sometimes
it seems the only thing in the world
that is without dark thoughts.
Sometimes it seems the only thing
in the world that is without
questions that can’t and probably
never will be answered, the
only thing that is entirely content
with the pink, then clear white
morning and, gratefully, says so.

In these anxious, change-filled, violent times, our fellow living things remind me to pause and breathe and take notice of the astonishing gift it is to be here, alive and breathing. What a precious and holy thing to be a part of this beautiful, fragile Earth community.

I take a breath and I give thanks, joining my voice with the birds.

I’m reminded of Jesus inviting his (understandably) anxious followers to look at the birds of the air and the flowers of the field. They don’t sow or reap, but God feeds them, Jesus says. They are dressed in beautiful clothes by no effort of their own. Then Jesus asks, “How much more does God care for you?”

I certainly felt cared for this morning — awed by the beauty of birdsong, inspired by the interconnectedness of Creation, supported by the ground beneath my feet.

And I want you to know that I care for you, dear companion on the way.

Your life is holy and precious.

You are making your way through all the beauty and muck in this world, determined to live.

What a courageous and beautiful thing.

I hope you will find a moment on this Earth Day to connect with the Creation to which you belong. May you remember that you are not alone — that life simply wants to live, and your longings for flourishing emerge from this deep, natural instinct common to all creatures. You are in good — and beautiful — company.

The whole of life is singing for life’s sake — may we join our voice to the chorus.