Time to refresh by Lynn J Simpson

"I look out the window
The birds are composing
Not a note is out of tune
Or out of place"
Jon Foreman, Your Love is Strong

I watch her fly, her wings that flutter, her belly that drops toward the water, and clawed feet that land and grip to the twig anchored to a birch tree that roots in wild grasses of the river's bank.

Effortless, easy; flawless and free, her beak pointing up toward an abundant sky,  I wait and watch to see what her next move will be. Does she think before she moves, or waits until a wisp of wind is felt under her wing, or a sound that startles her sensitive ears?

What will make her move? But then I ponder. Does it matter what makes her fly again, as all is in perfect harmony, in His perfect plan? Is what matters is that she waits, on that branch that seems like it has been set in that place just for her, in this moment, to be in an alertness of rest? An alertness of rest that senses in spirit, in seeing, in smell, taste and hearing, when to move again?

I shift on the rock where I sit, the river flowing inches in front of me. I lean forward, slip a cool hand into shallow waters slipping over rocks. Effortless, easy; flawless and free the river water flows over my still hand braced on pebble laced sand. My hand soothed and refreshed in waters that flow and journey.

A vision enters my mind, but does not disturb. A woman at a well. And He speaks.

 Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
John 4:13

My hand moves in the river water. It cups and fills and raises inches above the river, and lets water flow out between opening fingers. It dips into waters again, fills, and raises, and lets waters flow out, only to be filled again with a movement back into waters that endlessly flows over still rocks.

Effortless, easy; flawless and free the river flows. And waters flow through a refreshed hand, through fingers moved, opened in receiving and retrieving.

A gentle wind grazes my neck, brushes away a wisp of hair that journeyed over an eye. I look up, across the river. The twig has emptied of her.

She has moved on.

I stand, turn to the path that leads my next moment, my next thought, my next journey and words. River waters grace my ears. A cool but water refreshed hand tucks loose hair behind my ear.  And I take a step.