Easter Sunday morning. I sit at the window and look at the lake - the trees still undressed in their summer finery. I ponder the meaning of the season. It has been a long winter, living in isolation in the midst of so much sadness and death, kind of like a mushroom cloud.
Every spring the Goldfinch appears on its way to its summer home. It comes for a few days, enjoys the seed in the bird feeder, and moves on. I know the bird is around because my husband has seen it. Every day I watch for it, hoping to spot it before it flies away.
As I look up on this Sunday morning, before me on the branch closest to the window sits the Goldfinch in all its glory. Bright! Yellow! Shining like the sun! It sits there with its head turned my way. For a moment it’s as if we see each other, taking in each other’s presence. Knowing the other is there.
It feels like a divine appearance - like Mary at an open tomb, a gift of hope, of redemption, suggesting new life in all its many forms, the nearing end of the dark winter of Covid.
A transcendent moment. A Simple Wonder.