Miracle birds

miracles are overlooked every day—not because they are so subtle or ephemeral, but due to the fact that they are so tangible. how can a hidden wish, barely whispered, to an unseen force result in a bird in one’s living room—in a flying girl—in  an image that  appears beneath the plastic lid of almond butter in a health food store—that is first a duck and then morphs before ones eyes into a dove and grows an olive branch in its beak—it is oft incomprehensible to the human mind that these manifestations, within moments after one asks for a sign, can have a direct linkage to the request barely spoken.

this is why i have become fond of filming miracles.

when i came home one christmas eve, depressed, lonely, with a bag of groceries—and pulled up in front of my house, where i had raised my chidlren who were now gone. a cold relentless rain had been falling gracelessly like a sheer wall for a full day, it was dark, it was late—i stepped out into the rain and my bag abruptly shredded, groveries in the mud at my feet. no big deal to me now—now, after i have no house, no car, and often no groceries—but then, it was the alst straw. on my knees already, kneeling to gater up the bag of whole cranberries, the cans of pumpkin for pies, hugging the goods that would become my family’s dinner, to my hest, feeling so strangely bereft, i began to pray—i began to cry—crying and praying  and kneelng i said—give me a sign, please god give me a sign.

i went into the house—

and instantly i saw the bird on the tip of the christmas tree. i grabbed my camera.