Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters,
and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat;
yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.
Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread?
and your labour for that which satisfieth not?
hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good,
and let your soul delight itself in fatness.
Incline your ear, and come unto me:
and your soul shall live;
and I will make an everlasting covenant with you,
even the sure mercies of David.
At a wayside shack just off a highway where we stopped to inquire directions, recalls Carrie Jacobs Bond (who wrote those beautiful words, The End of a Perfect Day), a wistful-looking woman, drawn into conversation, said, “We don’t have any music, we haven’t a radio, and we don’t get to town. I wish I was you-all.” . . . Behind the shack there was a little pond, where in the shade of overhanging willows, some ducks drifted lazily. “Have you any frogs in your pond?” I inquired, and she said indifferently, “Yes, and they croak every night.”
In my hillside garden the frogs have a choral which I would not exchange for any other. When twilight comes the big basso tunes up, directs and leads, and soon the woodland music of a score of lusty throats take up the symphony, deep and tuneful, in a manner peculiar to frogs. To me this is one of the night’s loveliest sounds. Often we silence the radio, which we enjoy in its way, to get the quivering chorus of the little brown and green choristers of the pool. There is no other music like it. At the dawning of the twittering and calling of the birds awakens the sleeper. During the day the gladsome note of feathered songsters is heard over the garden.
This poor “deaf” woman had her ears turned to the horizon, and never knew that she was missing the wonderful harmonies of nature. Just as so often we fix our eyes on the “apples on the other side of the wall”. ~~~From an old clipping.
What are we wanting to hear . . .Today
With my prayers, desiring yours, Leslie