tmbt: midnight hunting wren
A sweet breeze heavy with the rain and thunder, the sound of pit-pit-pat-whisper-of-aspens, and the smooth tart of a young chardonnay. Then a wren.
I am sitting (still sitting) in this simple black leather armchair on a cinematic single woman night (not so single now, but traveling without my love) sipping white wine, eating some pseudo-fancy goat artsy cheese on baguette, sifting through some blogs, enjoying the sound and feel of the rain.
Mind wondering, sifting through a lot of not-so-important thoughts… and then the wren.
One light outside the screen door. Uncountable bugs playing off the light and the eaveshang and the night. And the wren is here to find them. For a moment, I think it a sign of blessing, a little get-out-of-your-head touch of grace. And then I see, she is working like the rest of us… to eat, to feed others perhaps, to stay dry in a world wet with worry. Her wings are strong, her sight keen, and here song incidental in her bursts of quick flight.
And so this little midnight hunting wren is today’s most beautiful thing.
Painting by Irene.