It is a beautiful evening. Mondays are given a bad reputation, but when the sun sinks away and the day is heaving a tired sigh of final rest.... then I can find peace. The clouds blush peach and cream and periwinkle, their reflections in the vast and silent sea giving it the aspect of village-sized pink polka-dots. The forested hillsides which never see winter are filled with the symphonic cacophony of hundreds of roosting birds, chatting up on the day's flight adventures. I watch as a flock of green parrots rush headlong with the wind to join their companions. The birds might be winding down, but the mosquitoes are just waking up, hungry as ever. In one wedge of cloud above me hovers the whisper of a rainbow. It vanishes ounce by ounce back into shapeless vapor.
I feel my worries and concerns grow smaller before this greatness, this world that goes on and on unhindered.
"Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they? And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life? ... So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." ~ Matthew 6:26,27,34
What if every minute of the day were like this: golden, peaceful, quiet? What if the sun always sat just on the horizon, shedding across the verdant fields the last rays of warmth? What if?
I suppose the day's work would never get done. We would be tempted to sit and watch all day, resting as if for eternity. And we would be lost in a monotonous beauty.