May God Bless Us in our Myriads

Some tiny birds, finches, I believe, have been taking advantage of the shelter of an overhang at the house.

They secrete themselves in a small gutter shaped section of aluminum that folds inward underneath the overhang.

They bed down in this inhospitible location, in spite of cold temperatures and blowing wind that must make this metallic roost less than ideal, and peek out with tiny bright eyes to see if us humans seem to be presenting any danger as we come and go.

We are suprised to find them there, suprised at how to these small lives, this cold hard niche seems welcoming, and we worry about the weather and its impact upon them. And we make efforts to ease what must be their fleeting and precarious lives.

And I am minded of how small and uncertain all life is, and how dependent, and how frail we all are.

May God bless us in our myriads, and help us to care for each other.