Someone remarks, “They’re not really zoo animals.” Swans and
ducks are grabbing bread and chips from little persons scrabbling among the
fallen leaves, trees nearly bare now. Ducks with red-striped faces and meditative
expressions in their avian eyes, plump and comfortable on the carefully chosen
rocks; gulls — white throats, grey beaks — dipping and washing off the little
outcrop of irregularly laid pebbles, with one perched among the azaleas
graceful on the slope above. A snow lantern stands in the midst of late leaves
floating past. Swans cruising, sipping and drinking. Gulls ever active. Ducks
drifting, rotating, following along.
Everything
here is provided for the ease and comfort of ducks, swans, and gulls, whether
deliberately or not. It’s a protected setting for animals and birds, and even
for plants that frame and feed them. There are also many human children, all with
the gestures and responses appropriate to their age: a reminder that mutability
and change are the essence of the life of the world. Some unwisely feeding the
ducks — who probably need duck food but seem to be surviving the human diet —
some sitting on the broad stone steps, some beckoning to others, jumping up and
down. Some viewing, with long gazes, as the birds swim and the leaves fall.
So I think:
what is it that gives creatures a wholesome site where they can thrive? A
combination of temperature, tranquillity, nourishment and respect. God respects
our limitations: why don’t we respect one another's? Birds and animals can
sometimes be given sanctuary, but more often are exploited, along with trees,
crops, airs and oceans. Imagine becoming sanctuaries for one another, the place
where human beings are not for use but for grace.
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