A few days ago, I saw a porcupine lying on the roadside as if he were sleeping--his furry face and leathery paws resting easy in the grass, and his quills shining in the morning sun. From what I read, he had about thirty thousand of them. He couldn’t see very well, and he spoke in screeches and chatters and whines. He never wandered more than a few acres from home, and he probably lived in the same den year after year. He liked acorns and wildflowers and buds and leaves and bark and anything salty. He spent a lot of his time alone, high in the tree canopies, just resting and eating. He never hurried. If it weren’t for the car that hit him, he might have lived twice as long as our dogs. He almost made it to mating season, which starts next month. I find him hard to forget. I think God does, too.
“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.” Luke 12:6