I did TWO thee-mile walks today. Hebrew makes me restless and so, after my three hour class and one and one-half hour tutoring session, I went for a walk and got rained on and then, before dinner, unable to sit still and study, I grabbed my notes and retraced my steps.
I was alternating between trying to grasp the text (carrying a xeroxed copy covered with a plethora of tiny handwritten notes) and pondering the questions that plague me these days. Hebrew must be memorized, but one cannot lose a child to suicide in the middle of seminary and not have one's concept and dreams of ministry utterly changed. The constant dualism of my train of what passes for thought.
And then I saw this little bird in someone's yard and turned my attention to it. The words "chipping sparrow" slowly emerged from the very dim recesses of my very much fogged and disabled mind. A mile or so later and another one appeared at the reservoir around which I walk. Chipping sparrows. Birds that in another lifetime I would have noted or checked off on a spring migration list.
Who was that woman? It seems so odd to me, that there are still chipping sparrows and that I still notice.