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“Life itself is the most wonderful fairytale of all.”
 Hans Christian Anderson 

Yesterday, I went for an early evening walk with the dogs, hoping to spot the owls in the narrow strip of woods that run the length of our property.  And while that may sound like a tranquil pursuit, trust me on this one…

With my dogs, it Ain’t.

The male lab keeping pace at my side nibbles my fingertips in a bizarre show of affection.  The female shepherd attacks and re-attacks the female lab in one of her obsessively neurotic displays of dominance.  She then runs to me with a whiny plea to praise her for such criminal behavior.  The only one of the pack who is remotely sane is the golden retriever.  And his sanity comes from old age senility, plus the fact that he doesn’t much care anymore.  He would rather just not be noticed at all.

So, because of my demented regiment of canines and befitting Tytonidae prudence, the owls wisely kept to their nests, and I saw neither flapping of broad wings nor heard the nightly hoo-hoo-huh-hooooos.  We have barn, barred, and a few great horned owls, but I’ll have to wait for a dogless walk to see them.

Still, I was rewarded on my quest by a bluebird who swooped before me, carrying the sky on its back and with two cardinals who perched on the garden fence, sharing a seed.

The small, often overlooked miracles.

The sky above the trees, however, was most impressive and impossible to miss.

Radar Rob had informed me that there was a 70% chance of rain overnight and a 90% chance on Monday.

An ordinary evening…

Filled with miracles.

All of life, it seems, is in a state of creation.  Recreating, restructuring, evolving.  An ever-changing canvas on which God paints a brand new masterpiece each day.  No two sunsets are alike.  Cloud formations transfigure, the light shifts.

It’s as if we walk into the Louvre every day, and the paintings and sculptures have changed.  Nothing is the same as the day before.  Each work of art is new, just as beautiful, equally exquisite, and yet different from the one seen the day before.

An evening walk under a country sky reminds me that, in living the ordinary, I somehow experience the extraordinary.

Turns out, however, my radar guy was only mostly right.  Today, the chance of rain is 100%.  And, raining, it is indeed.  Cats and dogs.  Or, as the French are fond of putting it—“il pleut comme vache qui pisse.”

So, today, our fields are flooded, the driveway impassable.  Red bands of inclement weather rolling over us.

Radar Rob is happy.  Miracles abound.

All’s right with the world.

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