A black chicken is roosting in the tree outside my window. She belongs to a neighbor but sometimes flees the coop to sleep in the safety of the tree. You see, there are coyotes creeping around at night, and they evidently make the chicken nervous.   

Let me assure you I don’t live on a farm, but there is still an abundance of chirping, screeching, cheeping and clucking wildlife in the neighborhood. On my walks, I have encountered jaunty caterpillars, scurrying down the sidewalk, fat bumblebees, burying themselves in flowers, and chipmunks chirping for mates.   

By the creek, I stand on the rickety bridge and watch the water hurrying over big rocks, on its way to keep an appointment with the river. The oaks, their trunks gnarled and knotted, watch me warily as I enter their territory. One day as I walked, words from the Mass came to mind: “Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of Hosts. Heaven and earth are full of your glory.” C.S. Lewis wrote, “Nature gave the word ‘glory’ a meaning for me.”  

In the mornings, the choir of birds joyfully welcomes the sun. We may be mystified by what they’re saying, but the psalmist gives us insight. “Praise him, sun and moon; give praise, all shining stars. Praise him, highest heavens, you waters above the heavens. You animals wild and tame, you creatures that crawl and fly. Let them all praise the Lord’s name.” Perhaps animals praise God as a way of showing gratitude: “For the Lord commanded and they were created.” 

On another walk, I encountered a long-haired Daschund puppy named Ricky. When he was just a few weeks old, my neighbor placed him in my arms, and he eagerly bestowed kisses upon me. Whenever I see him on my walks, all my troubles dissolve, and I wonder why doctors don’t prescribe puppies as a cure for depression.   

Natural images abound in the Gospels, where Jesus taught about fig trees, sparrows, seeds and grapevines. The apostles were skilled at reading the skies for hints of storms and heeding the changing tides. Jesus calmed the storm at sea, and he prayed on the mountain and fasted in the desert.   

Years ago, I was in a small fishing boat with my late husband, and we had dropped anchor, when suddenly the waters parted. Two huge heads with whiskery faces and curious eyes arose from the deep just inches away from us. At first, we were stunned, but when the big beasts sank beneath the water, we looked at each other and gleefully shouted: “Manatees!”   

That day, I wrote in my journal: “As a child I learned about the Beatific Vision, the moment in Heaven when we will look into the eyes of God. I am starting to believe we have glimpses of God’s face here on earth.”  

Every stripe on the zebra, every swirl on the butterfly and every song from the birds reveal God’s artistry. St. Paul writes about the glories of Heaven: “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love him.”  

Chickens, creeks, chipmunks—and don’t forget puppies—remind us to praise the Lord, and thank him for the glories of creation. Each day, let’s open our eyes and our hearts to the abundant glimpses of Heaven God gives us right here on earth.