The choice is ours

In my recent columns about heaven I waxed frequently about the fabulous scenery and astonishing wonders we believers could expect to experience when we got to heaven. I gave some rather fabulous examples, such as a family visiting the Rings of Saturn and a trip to an unknown planet. In my enthusiasm for living in a world where the fabulous is always attainable I forgot that one’s dream might simply be to relax in a flower-filled garden and read, or write, the sun shining, the temperature just right, birds on the feeder, and no responsibilities or worries because you’re doing this in heaven. Heaven doesn’t have to be exotic, although it certainly can.

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In fact, that has been a dream of mine, perhaps what I would love to do forever. These above thoughts came to me one morning last week as I sat at my patio table under a green and white umbrella, writing an opinion piece on my laptop for a future column. I’m retired at 69 and thoroughly enjoying myself. The sun was indeed shining and the temperature was perfect. My patio is surrounded by flower boxes and baskets; an iron bird bath filled with nuts and seeds stands about ten feet from the patio. On that particular morning, and quite often actually, the bird bath feeder became a war zone. Several iridescent-headed gracklings, some red-winged blackbirds, sparrows, chickadees, dusty tan morning doves and the odd bluejay, battled with two black squirrels for feeder position. Every so often a large angry grackling swooped in scattering the seed and smaller birds and squirrels from the arena. They all gradually made their way back. Also that morning a very plump groundhog ambled up through the back fence from the ravine and mooched around feeding on the spillage from the unruly mob up on the feeder. The garden, secluded all around by red and green maples, birches and elderberry trees is quite wild with lilies waiting to bloom, white daisies and dandelions. A few statuesque garden ornaments hold plants of English ivy, potato vine and mauve geraniums. Also I tend a number of very broad-leaved alien plants among the many weeds. All the wild flowers and weeds have steadily grown from the scattered and uneaten bird seed from previous years. It’s a lovely place right in the city to write. As I sat there taking it all in I realized I was already living one of my dreams. Big dreams are wonderful and so are small ones -- sometimes more wonderful. In a joy and peace-filled heaven just more so. Michael is a freelance writer in Toronto.

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