The past two weeks have been interesting. A learning process at the very least. I was reminded it’s that time of year when webworms magically appear. You can’t walk around under the trees without being in contact with them, like it or not. They don’t read “No Trespassing” signs, and could care less that they share that little dance you do when you walk into their web.
I was convinced that the wild turkey, who visited my yard everyday one week, was heaven sent. She was so busy pecking away at the ground and lower part of the tree trunks. I just knew those worms didn’t stand a chance. Apparently she decided on a change of diet after a week of worms. I haven’t seen her in several days. I would have loved to watch a “Hen Party.”
Something else of interest to me was the sighting of a bushy tail going up a tree then realizing it was too big to be a squirrel. It was a fox; she walked up the tree trunk and came around into view. This particular tree is an Old Spanish Oak, its trunk is hollow. About the time I realized she was looking intently into the hollow trunk, she disappeared into it. I know she has a kit in there. Three days in a row I saw her leave and return, this was in 12-hour intervals. I keep hoping I will get to see her bring it out. I haven’t seen her in a few days. Perhaps her schedule has changed.
I consider these things a gift. Had my computer not been in the hands of a computer repair and virus removal person I probably would have missed some or all of these experiences. Well, maybe not the worms, I still had to take out the trash and mow. But even when I was mowing the turkey kept at her pecking and I gave her plenty of space.
We often miss those little gifts, brush some off as just irritating or something to avoid. Year after year I have walked my property in mid to late December, already tired of the bare trees and lack of color. Praying for just one glimpse of something blooming, He has yet to fail to show me a little purple phlox in the middle of all that drabness. It’s like a break in the clouds of a stormy spell. A promise of something beautiful to look forward to. Or walking and finding that first little bluebonnet plant in November, then watching them grow the next few months. A promise, a gift.
Last week we had to move our church picnic in the park into the church sanctuary because of the threat, pretty much a promise, of rain. It was a great time of worship and everyone was fed, once in the sermon and again in the fellowship afterward. Again, a gift. Sometimes we just need to count our blessings and always acknowledge the Giver, our Lord. Great is His faithfulness.