It was a chilly day toward the end of May in Japan’s Alps. Three days it had taken my wife and me to get back here from stateside, but we were still a long taxi ride away from our cottage.
Waiting for the car in the warm hotel lobby, I spied a sparrow up on the power lines. It sat there all alone, a dark spot of feathers, balled up against the chill, motionless, staring off toward Mt. Yatsugatakè shrouded in clouds.
What a noble bird, taking no regard for its lack of a companion, shivering on the wire. The most insignificant of birds, sparrows are, but even a sparrow’s demise never goes unnoticed in heaven.
That unlikely sparrow braving the cold somehow helped me make a connection with heaven’s grace and rendered me misty-eyed. It must have been the sparrow’s courage to fly out on its own, brave the cold alone with nary a word of complaint that urged me to press on.
There it sat perched in full control of itself, staring off toward Yatsugatakè, waiting for sight of the majestic peaks to break through the rain clouds.
Handwritings on the Wall 