Black-capped chickadees tip and tumble in the hemlocks. Jays dart to the bird-berry bushes which are full with red autumn gifts, round and small. The maple tosses orange and gold to a blue sky, fading. Day is going down.

The pine stands tall, as does the house, bathing me in shadow. Blueberry bushes fan crimson leaves in the breeze. Bronze needles have flung themselves as one over the grass. Green and bronze kiss, embrace, quiet. A long body of love.

But this is what pierces my soul. The breath of wings floating upward, a tiny moth. Captured the light on its wings just right. And I was here to see it. A barely-there grace, a whisper, new drifting from Your hand.

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Blogger Joelle said...

"A barely-there grace" ... So easy to miss the graces, the small God who flits in and out and up. He is rather small, it seems. But expansive as sky that holds the moth, Himself.

Blogger Laurie A. said...

"And I was here to see it."

... and now so are we.

oh how i wish the moth knew of the gift he gave you ... gave me.

Blogger Billy Coffey said...

What a beautiful picture of a simple yet profound moment...

Blogger Jennifer @ JenniferDukesLee.com said...

Beautifully written. Thanks for sharing this moment of grace.

Blogger dae said...

grace, always in what seems to be the frailest of things. thank you for the reminder.


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