An Ever-Flowing Stream

On the porch this morning I am overwhelmed by rapid-fire love letters from God, assaulting my sleepy mind.

A cardinal flits near the bird feeder, until she spots Skye the Schnauzer too close.
Then to a branch near the top of the Red Oak.
Momentary red flashes against a palate of green.

Bougainvillea sing fuchsia.
Zinnias antique gold and bronze.
Daisies wave yellow flags.

Crimson-headed house finches shove black oil sunflower seeds in like popcorn, the shells popping out.
A Bluejay, pounding his seed on wrought iron, wishes for a more efficient beak, but hammers on.
Swallows roar overhead on their way to a distant airport.
A red-winged blackbird squawks for a turn at the feeder.
Over-fed dove doze on the fence top and loiter around the bird bath, lazy with the assurance that hunting season is months away.

Petunias cover a clay pot like crocheted purple with green leaves peaking out of the holes.
Myrtles bear bouncing plumes of lilac in the breeze as rhythmically as a marching band.
Recently clipped St. Augustine, slightly damp with the remnants of the overnight sprinkler, waits for the energy of sun rays — though probably wishing for slightly less heat this afternoon in July.

Fred the neighborhood cat sneaks atop of the house next door, checking for unsuspecting feathered friends on the other side.
Skye stalks, then bolts after a squirrel, who knows his job, staying only inches ahead, because that’s what the game is all about.

The morning breeze cools my face.
The coffee is hot and just the right amount of bitter.

And Psalm 103 involuntarily slips out my lips.

All of it. All, love letters from a Giddy God as present as life itself.