A Chosen Dwelling Place Beneath the Eaves
The birdhouse hangs in the corner of my porch beneath the eaves, its teal blue paint bringing the color of heavenly places a little closer. Twigs jut out from the circular opening, evidence of a home for momma bird’s little ones.
In the ancient juniper next to the house, daddy bird sings his heart out. Day in and day out, rain or shine, blustery or calm, I hear him in the branches — his song fills the air with praise and perhaps love for his beloved nestled in the twigs.
My heart smiles.
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