I saw this morning a sparrow hawk, minutes after it took a mourning dove on the lawn of city hall as I walked to Easter Sunday mass. The gutted dove: Some few gray feathers, a flash of rose-red meat on the bright green grass. On seeing me the little predator lifted away, prey clutched in talons, and brought it to the top of a nearly leafless sycamore. Springtime, but not yet in full. From a bare limb, the Falco sparverius looked down. I hurried a little. Mass was about to begin. I had another ten minutes to walk.
Fr. Hopkins, what would you have made it?
Later, the old Easter sequence about the empty tomb. Dic nobis Maria, Quid vidisti in via? Tell us Mary, what did you see on your way? Mors et vita duello conflixere mirando. Death and life hand to hand in strange combat.
The image on this page was taken by Flickr user Mark Couvillion. It was used under a Creative Commons license.
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This just shows how much a person can learn about life if they would only get out and walk.
I had a conversation with my daughter about her great-grandparents this morning. Florence, the last one standing, died over the weekend, so we where remembering:
Chencho (100 years old) - collected toy horses - he was a rancher
Nona (89 years old) - saw with her hands - she was blind
Florence (98 years old) - had a loud, loud voice - she raised her kinds of her own in a small town in Texas....
As you say DJ - death and life hand to hand in a strange combat....
DJ: funny how birds stop you. Last year about this time I went out in the backyard and saw a little bird dying. I couldn't go back in the house before it had completed its journey; it's like I was its assistant, or witness. It felt sad but holy.