Two Immutable Things

Male Cardinal poses on the raised lettuce bed in the backyard early spring
Some years ago, our neighbors across the road built a horse ring addition to their barn. Watching the Amish build the roof entertained me for a month.
          Our house sits on a hill overlooking the Nikolic’s historic Townsend homestead. I’ve walked passed it thousands of times. We go back almost thirty years before Velco and Martha found and purchased it.
At twilight, I’d sit in our backyard and listen to cattle lowing in the distance. Back then, before light pollution reached us, shooting stars streaked the night sky. Imagine that natural show and sound track.
          Thus, I was emotionally attached to the Townsend farm when I first met our potential new neighbors walking the lay of the land.
          “This is what I’ve dreamed of since I came to America,” Velco said.
The buildings had fallen into desperate disrepair when he and Martha rescued the old hip barn’s collapsing timbers.
With Michigan’s four seasons, I never tire of the panoramic view of our neighbor’s meadows and hayfield. The past several winters have offered the surprising scene of two pyramids, one of sand, the other gravel.
I paid the duo no mind until this winter’s meditative, daylong snowfalls. One morning over fresh eggs and toast, I noticed the piles had transformed into two white peaks near the road’s tree line.
The pyramids enchanted me on my walks and drives up and down the road. I spied them from our windows upstairs. My winter Arabia.
Mealtime with the pair became a ritual. This month, the snow melted from the south and west side of the mounds, then snow fell again.
Robins in summer
Now, their north side is bare. Buds swell on branches. Robins and cardinals flirt and mate. Squirrels gather food from mast beneath leaf mold. This time next month, the illusion of Egypt won’t be visible from our house and property.
So I spy them at sunrise and dusk while I may. One pile of sand, the other stone, most likely left over from the horse ring, transform into silhouettes and whisper holy words.
Perhaps it’s the influence of The Ten Commandments, a childhood memory of Moses leading the Israelites’ Exodus from bondage and pyramids—Khufu at Giza, the largest Egyptian pyramid, also the last of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World in existence.
The most humble in appearance, Khufu has outlived the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the Statue of Zeus at Olympia, The Temple of Artemis in Ephesus, The Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, and The Colossus of Rhodes.
Remember these Wonders from world history? They imprinted our minds with images from books, movies, and stories. They tease our imagination to see them, attempt to understand humankind in another time and place.

For we know change comes by seasons. All things come from, through, and to God.
Dear Reader, my five senses perceive the weather and my neighbor’s piles of sand and stone stand for two immutable things—God’s love and faithfulness.
As the birds proclaim, this is the risen season.