Thinking of the gannets at Cape St. Mary's

The snow of winter piled up against the back door. Brave sparrows defy the ingenious squirrels who could crack Fort Knox if there was birdseed inside.

And the gannets of the summer come to mind. The millions of seabirds at the Cape. Outnumbering in hundreds of thousands the avid birdwatchers, outkeening the whir of the cameras. We are in a cathedral of birdcalls. The stained glass of the cliffs and ocean the backdrop of eternity. The crash of the waves like the pipes of a celestial organ. We are cowed and awed. What place do we have on this precipice?

My soul yearns to go back there.

To stand in reverential humility.