Just then he saw a man-of-war bird with his long black wings circling in the sky ahead of him. He made a quick drop, slanting down on his back-swept wings, and then circled again.
"He's got something," the old man said aloud. "He's not just looking."
I have friends who can identify birds. By their coloring. Song. Of course, Santiago knows the man-of-war because he's spent most of his life on the sea, chasing fish and birds. I admire feathered beauty. I enjoy hearing birdsong in the morning and at night.
This evening at the library, I hosted an outdoor concert by a dear friend named Kerry. She sings and writes folk songs, and she is a source of light in the universe. For an hour, with the wind rattling the flagpole and a rabbit listening from the flower garden, Kerry played her guitar, took requests, and filled the air with music.
And the rain held off. The wind eventually died down. I even saw a bird or two. Seagulls. Screeching. Fighting over some piece of food. And even that was beautiful Because, really, beauty is everywhere, and you can choose to see it or ignore it.
Tonight, like that rabbit in the garden, Saint Marty chose beauty.
Lovely !
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