Sunsets, Storms and Songbirds
or some musings

This was written not long after I had broken up with Michelle and was still depressed, but looking to be optimistic. Then my friend Jamie wanted me to include her in my webpage. This was my way of doing that.

Dec. 1, 1998

As described in my most recent news, I went to visit Brynne recently. On the way back, I felt unfortunate to be driving west, right as it was approaching evening. My windshield not being the cleanest, the glare was horrible and vision limited. I decided not to drive as fast and be safe (makes sense, doesn't it?). About halfway through my drive, the sun actually set. At first, it was nothing impressive. I began musing about Arizona sunsets and how they often are the best in the world. Ok, I admit freely that I haven't been ALL over the world, but I've been a number of places and other people have also agreed. While Arizona might be lacking in certain areas (including the color green, translate: foliage and lawns and other green things), this state does excell in it's sunsets.

As I continued, the colors deepened. Yellow gave way to orange, red, purple, then blue. I had to keep driving, but at least I was facing the right direction to see this masterpiece. In the distance, I saw the mountains surrounding Tucson turn the darkest purple, a stark contrast to the currently blood red horizon.

This weekend, as may be expected, I went home and spent time with my family for Thanksgiving. I had a great time. On the way back to Tucson, the drive seemed to go faster than usual. I was deep in thought the whole time. Actually, at one point, I was thinking of the last drive (from Thatcher) back to Tucson. The truth is, this drive was in the pouring rain. Quite fun, actually, but no cool sunset. But I've always been one to love and enjoy a storm. It was great. Arizona has some of the best storms.

Then yesterday, Sunday, I went on a walk with Jaime. We didn't get far before I saw a small bird (don't ask me what kind), sitting on the ground, across the street. I wanted to take a closer look. It looked as if the poor bird was hurt. It just sat on the ground, fluttering its wings in desperation, not able to fly. Jaime bent down and picked up the bird in her hand. It immediately tried to take off in flight, only to go about a foot away before going down again. She picked it up again and held it up near her face. Right then, I really wished I had a camera. The scene was perfect. How often do you see a wild bird resting in someone's hand?

We quickly returned to her place and tried to find some Humane Society or Animal Shelter place that would take care of it. The bird, by this time, was resting in my hand. Totally scared out of its wits, I would imagine, the poor thing was shaking and would occasionally flap its wings. We never did find anyone who would help us, so we left the bird in her back yard with a piece of bread next to it. What else could we do?

It was amazing to hold that little life in my hand, its fast beating heart thumping against my palm. It was touching to the soul when I beheld, in the same theater window of my car windshield, first a sunset, then a storm. I see and feel these things with wonderment and know this was no accident.

Thank you for listening.

© Matthew Rutherford 1998

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