Prefer listening? Free peanuts at http://soundcloud.com/frontporchrambles/like-god
(OK, maybe the peanuts are a slight exaggeration…)
The scene is simple, cast in blues and whites and winter grays, far to the east. Russia of long ago, deep in the heart of winter. Lost in frozen thought, the river holds silent behind its iron ruffle.
A little old lady sits on her bench, swathed in layer upon layer, extra pounds to keep her comforted where winter’s wool wears thin. Mittens warm wrinkled knuckles as she delves within a crumpled bag, pulling forth handful after handful of bread crumbs and nuts, strewing them about her feet for those that gather, birds and squirrels as fat and round as she.
From nearby come the haunting strains of a street musician, classically trained, no finely draped orchestra pit today, only ice-kissed corners where hope of one’s breakfast may shine as the bow draws melodies long forgotten from Stradivarius strings. Just as penniless as she, he is, each alone and yet not lonely, lost in their personal raptures.
One squirrel sits up, eyes more inquisitive than most, and poses its burning question: Where is her nest, and how is it she has such an abundance of nuts that she can share with him?
To the squirrel she is like God. Beautiful, simple – she and the squirrel together are a universe in themselves. She is its friend, and it, hers.
She thinks God must be very lonely. It must be hard when everyone needs something all the time. After all, perhaps God, too, just wants to be friends.
It could all be so easy. If we were friends, we wouldn’t expect God to be perfect either. We’d go to God with our happiness, not just our tears… we’d share a cup of tea, and do the things friends do, spend a lazy afternoon together, content to simply be with each other.
To the squirrel, she is like God.
© 2013 Front Porch Rambles, Mary Batson
All rights reserved – especially the one to fly.