I remember summer days when birds crowded the feeder and more walked below pecking at fallen seeds. Somewhere a preacher asks of those listening with ears to hear to draw the meaning of scripture out of the mythical realm and into daily experience. Do the birds hear the same words? The secret given to us at dawn, does it still remain quiet and secure after we have given it away so many times? Though the words of the questions remain the same, they can be rearranged in infinite ways to provide the answer to the one question always being asked: Will the birds feed today?