Even though it's not yet officially summer, here in the mountains of western North Carolina, we're experiencing the heat of summer. There are so many shades of green as I look out the window that I somehow feel we should have as many words to describe green as the Eskimos have for ice and snow.
A morning meditation on our newly constructed deck yielded a cacophony of birdsongs to delight my musical ears. Each song seems unique, although I'm not a trained listener for this, and each tells me they are bursting with joy at surviving the winter. They begin singing before dawn, so by the time I get out there, their songs are half-finished.
Sweet Spirit, let me sing with joy at having survived the dark, cold winter of my soul. Let me fairly burst with enthusiasm and zeal at being alive in your creation. Let me give thanks for being a part of something so grand as this world. Amen.