But is there real love...?

This photographer was sensitive in looking at snow-covered branches from below.  As our minds go, one thought leading to another, I remember teaching an 8th grade religion class in Manhattan around 1987 and our spending a few weeks reading St. Therese of Lisieux's Story of a Soul. While Catholics are encouraged to imitate the saints, we know we can't live in a 19th century French Carmelite convent (cold and uncomfortable), but we can know the mind of Therese which pondered things deeply and with delight.

So I took an idea from that journal, where in a few lines, Therese observes the outer world of her enclosed home, and then in a final eight words, asks the most important question. I'd venture if she had as much fun with the lines as I'm going to now, her prioress would have censured her for being too worldly. I wouldn't agree with that.

I love the winter view from the underneath.

I love the nut hatch, titmouse and finch at my feeders.

I love the candle light on the icon face.

I love the steam rising from the morning tea.

I love the sharp scent of the cypress branch.

I love the dog-greeting in the pre-dawn.

I love the Blue Heron, flown to Caribbean coast.

I love the animal tracks crossing the snow.

I love the vole, hurrying for forest-floor cover.

I love the 7:00 A.M. walk in pink light.
I love the iPod soprano, running Bel Canto scales.
I love the stream that sounds like applause.

But, is there real love in my heart?