A corpulent red cardinal abruptly came into my visual realm and swiftly landed on a springy tree branch, causing it to test its limits of elasticity.
Both fed by abundance of food and optimism, they engage in swaying dance of Spring.
Then just as abruptly, the red ball of a bird fluttered out of my sight, leaving the branch waving farewell and fall back to its daydreams of hunter green summer.
“You won’t believe what I found at the creek.” My wife exclaimed after returning from her neighborhood walk. In her unfolding hand, I saw what must be at least a thousand year old projectile point, wholesome and perfectly preserved. When I held it carefully in my hand, the train of suburban doldrums derailed and my thoughts wandered wildly about the lifestyle of the person who made it and used it and about my residential subdivision eons ago. I can’t quite wrap my head around it since there seems to be a huge disconnect between me and that stone age person. But as I gently caress this object in my hand, I do feel a presence of many lives lived here continuously for countless generations and a desire to connect with them.