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My eyes follow the ants marching in a straight line up the side of the house heading toward the kitchen window after first discovering them assembled in clusters beneath the pots of oregano, basil and fennel that I keep forgetting to snip for our summer suppers and I suddenly understand why I find them every morning gathering at the sink. “Snip herbs!” They do their best to remind me. I move the pots to the porch.

My toes press in against the hot sand, digging down then curling up and I turn to look at my footprints when I notice I’ve made a path to the rose that caused me to stop and I wonder what it is doing there because it doesn’t fit into these surroundings—like a beating heart in the midsts of fish skeletons, fallen feathers and stones, serenaded by the wisps of wings, appearing and disappearing double blades unfolding, swooping and soaring then sailing away.

Five turkeys waddle up the hill like monks in cloaks, trailing unrealized wisdom behind their old man wrinkles and I have the urge to ask what is it they carry behind their crinkling, blinking, twitching eyes that I am certain the woman with the cane understands and would honor my curiosity if I shared it but I don’t, but am comforted as our eyes meet at this specific hour on this particular day in this unpredictable world where children in flooded caves are saved by fearless fighters.

I have a fearless Fighter who didn’t fit into His surroundings, who is like a Rose, a watchful Wonder, ever pointing me to lessons in Perseverance, Hope and Wisdom.

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