It’s been a devastating few days for Colorado.
The floods have caused such heartache and destruction to so many people it is beyond comprehension. In the Big Thompson Canyon it’s being dubbed the 500 Year Flood.
Like many others who are high and dry, I’ve watched the news coverage, feeling almost guilty that I have a warm house and all my belongings safely around me. The images of rushing water, flooded neighborhoods, and crumpled roads is horrifying.
It’s going to take a long time to get our infrastructure operational again. And equally long for people to recover, though they will.
I’d been feeling blue all weekend. I think it’s my brain’s way of coping with such horrific news. I’ve had to stop watching the television broadcasts, because it is just too much to take in.
So I headed to the pasture on Sunday evening with a heavy heart. But things out there are coming back to normal. The pond is down, the muck is drying out, and the horses seem none the worse for the stormy days.
It was a beautiful evening; the sun was sliding into the horizon casting a golden glow as it started to set. Pepper and Chickadee were content to munch their grain.
The routine of it soothed me and I began to breathe a bit easier.
Then I was given the most amazing gift.
Hundreds of birds made their way overhead from the nearby fields coming to roost in the big old cottonwood tree on the property. They came in huge swooping flocks, all turning as one in a beautifully choreographed dance.
The melody of birdsong filled the evening air, as if the tree had been plugged in like a jukebox. More and more birds flew overhead, calling to each other, making their way to the tree which was now almost vibrating it was so full of singing birds.
Then there was a moment when it seemed the tree was full and no more birds were coming.
All tucked in for the night, I thought.
But then some of the birds began taking off from the tree, flying toward the foothills.
And that’s when I had this image, vivid and strong enough to make me believe it.
They were guardian angels flying in to change shifts.
Some were coming in for a much-needed rest while others headed out to continue the job of safekeeping.
It made me smile, and I noticed that I felt better—lighter and more hopeful. The blue mood that had dogged me all weekend was fading.
We Coloradoans are a resilient bunch of folks.
Things will get sorted out and normal will return. Sometime.
Until it does, the sound of wingbeats overhead reminds me that we are here to take care of each other.
We are all guardian angels for someone.