“Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.”
At the risk of sounding unimaginative, “It’s a windy day, the water’s white with spray, and if this wind keeps up, the world might blow away.”(Poet unknown) And, at the risk of sounding blustery, I will report that Maggie May and I braved the bluster of Lake Michigan today.
Unlike the peaceful tranquility of summer, captured here on canvas by artist Jon McDonald, the waves hurtled and churned ashore. Overhead a swirl of red-shouldered hawks were soaring on the wing. “…and He will raise you up on eagles’ wings…” A cardinal sang a full throated melody. “…His eye is on the sparrow…” Oh, to fly like a bird and be free. Oh, to trill away with utter abandon.
Woof, woof. OK Maggie…
With my feet back on the ground, Maggie and I headed home, but here in the refuge of my house, I want you to know, part of me is still out there soaring with the hawks and singing with the cardinal.
Wherever you are, on this blustery day, I hope you take time to soar and sing. That’s pretty wild, I know. But unimaginative? What do you think, Mr. Wilde?