There is a heavy spring rain on and away off in the woods, in the dark of early morn, sings one lone bird. Well not a song exactly, more like a single sorrowful note, repeated, in the soft rumble of the rain in my woods. I wonder about the bird, if he could think, what explanation would he give this instinct to signal, to announce himself sentinel of the woods this wet morning. And should I answer back, a Tarzan-like yell or a strong southern “Hey” to acknowledge and to be acknowledged? After a moment he stopped, and suddenly I was alone for I had made no effort to let him know I heard him. He would not have known it even if I had reached out but I would have, I would have been, perhaps, a little closer to Eden and him a little closer to the coming Glory of all things made new!
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