I do not own a fancy camera, but I would love to have one someday—something lightning-fast to capture these small birds and lizards candidly, showing their sincere expressions. I know they saw me and went on the defense; I don’t blame them. I don’t like having my picture taken, either. I get all awkward and unnatural, too.
My mom has given me numerous books about trees, birds, and animals. I have studied these books and their messages for years. Receiving answers to my pressing concerns is reassuring, validating, and hopeful. I swear they are typically right in line with what is relevant in my heart and mind.
On this particular lunch-hour walk, this same Cardinal followed me…like for a mile. It would fly ahead of me, I’d catch up, and then it would swoop another 20 feet forward and wait. Knowing my camera was not powerful enough, I kept it in my pocket and paid attention to the moment. I was amazed at how long this game went on and laughed out loud a few times in disbelief. Most of my encounters with birds are fleeting, but not this one. What did it all mean? Seeing a Cardinal can be interpreted as a call to look inward and to conduct myself appropriately.
My moment with the salamander was swift; it stopped for a second in the middle of the walking path, just enough time for me to take a terrible picture. He was pretty long, somewhere around six to seven inches. Crossing the path with a Salamander reminds me to pay attention to the changes I’m experiencing in my life, and I choose to cooperate.
That settles it; my armchair reflections are free from worry. I’m on the right path, but I also need to take some accountability. I like being unconventional; I feel at home there. I’ll keep a lookout for anything out of the ordinary and continue to study the encounter.
From the Outside,
Margie