On Seeing Wonder
There is a field in Lamar, Texas, that is much like any other field. Cattle graze inside barbed wire. There is a marshy pond. Up the hill, live oaks grow, bent and twisted by the coastal winds.
It is a field much like any other field - except for the visitors who come, year after year. You might call them "winter Texans." They come all the way from northern Canada. They do not drive; they fly - but they never buy a ticket. They are the whooping cranes, the tallest birds in North America.
This week, I saw at least seven adult whooping cranes in that field. (There may have been more, moving in and out of the marsh grasses by the pond). Beside the adults, gleaming white in the sun, there were also three mottled chicks - each "chick" larger than an adult turkey.
I watched two adults fly from one end of the field to the pond: huge black-tipped wings, spanning nearly 7 feet, beating short, powerful strokes. On these wings, they have flown across the bay from the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge on the Texas Gulf Coast. On these wings, they have flown nearly three thousand miles from their summer breeding ground in Canada. On these wings, these two grand birds - constituting nearly one percent of their species' total wild population - continue to fly - despite all the threats of extinction.
There is a field in Lamar, Texas, that is much like any other field. There is a field in Lamar, Texas, that contains wonders. Not only do great birds journey far to visit. There are other wonders as well: Sunshine turns rain and dirt into grass. Grass turns into milk, frisky calves and beefsteak. Even in January, tiny wildflowers bloom.
O Lord, grant me eyes to see your wonders. In every field. On every day.
- Bill
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