Vain Repetitions

I’m likely to just write about the same things over and over. I don’t think God minds. The birds praise their Creator with the same song each morning. It must be something to see from God’s eyes, as it were: the dawn rolling across the turning earth, pole to pole. Along that line of light arises a song of millions of birds, insects, animals, and the chants and calls of human prayer. And at dusk the same again, quieting into the gentle symphony of crickets and night birds as the darkness passes over.

If one could hear it all from the stratosphere, it would surely be amazing. Perhaps a sort of symphony in itself, with diminuendos over the oceans (though perhaps the fish sing in a range we cannot perceive with human ears?). And along with this surge of song, the crackles and hisses of storms, the groans of the dying, the cries of the newborn, the crashes of war, the peaceful rhythms of weaving, dancing, and chewing; the clop and jingle of harnessed horses, the hum and laughter of mealtime conversations, the crackle of motor vehicles.

Perhaps we have the advantage in listening from where we are – to only a small portion of the symphony, which to our small ears would be cacophony if heard all at once.

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