That Thing, With Feathers

Dear Maria,

Well, despite a cold start to the morning, with a low layer of clouds squeezing the light of the rising sun into a buttery yellow—like real butter, sans food dye—a goodly number of birds decided to visit out back today.  Perhaps a rivulet broke off from the jet stream, or maybe a mysterious magnetic anomaly disoriented the fliers. Regardless, in they came.

First, an almost too-red-to-be-believed cardinal perched on the head of St. Francis, and when he opted for the patio table, a female cardinal settled on the statue. By and by came a Carolina wren, two nuthatches, too many chickadees to count, and then I was sent scrambling for the field guide.

I, too, know a hawk from a handsaw, but the bird sitting on the crook where the feeder would normally hang was a new one to me.  A pretty little thing, an Eastern Phoebe. Yep, that’s right. You can look it up.

The bigger news—for me at least—was the return visit of the male bluebird who had been checking on the state of the condo a few weeks ago, but this time his mate came along for the inspection. And inspect they did, both going inside for a good look around. I intended to clean out the box tomorrow, along with several other outdoor chores, but now I am not so certain that I should disturb their domestic tranquility.

Of course, I am glad for the flurry of birds coming in to peck at whatever suits them in my yard, but I feel almost beholden to the bluebirds as they have staked out my little corner of the world for their little corner of the world as well.

For five minutes or so the various birds hopped and flitted and pecked until as if some signal came, they all took wing. I let Max out to make his rounds, and while I stood in the doorway I heard the cooing of a Morning Dove from somewhere overhead and behind me.

The week ahead, a cold one for us. But, seeing the bluebirds so intent on their home visit makes me believe that sure enough, change is coming. As always, we look forward to better times.

Hope all is well with you and your loved ones.

Just, srk

A Single Spy, Sorrow Enough, and Spring

Dear Maria,

Rain and cold, rain and cold, rain and cold is the story for now. Sometimes a little more of one and less of the other, or more of both. Wrestling with the season’s weather, I guess, is a matter of temperament. The winter birds edge back this way when we see a slight warming, and then off for points south they go with a new cold front. Around here, often a bright sun accompanies the coldest day. Lighted with false fire, I suppose.

In the past few weeks, I was reminded of when Shakespeare’s King Claudius lamented that sorrows often come not singly but in battalions, but we learned of late that a single sorrow is grief enough. So many friends and family members took a deep thrust to the heart this Christmas season.

I was reminded, too, even if in so very much a different context, of when Macduff, impatient for news from his home in Scotland, asked, “What concern they? The general cause, or is it a fee-grief due to some single breast”.

Our drawing together for a memorial service—although each one of us there with our own particular emotions, our own set of memories—allows us to bear witness to a very singular element of our humanity, our physical mortality. We take pains to comfort one another, and we say by our very presence at such a time, “Look, as you are wounded, so too are we”.

Perhaps we also assemble as we do because we know the time will come when the slings and arrows of personal loss will strike us a hard blow and the gathering of friends and family to embrace our sorrow will ease our burden to a degree.

The general cause, or a fee-grief? Ross, the bearer of horrific news for Macduff, gets it right, I think: “No mind that’s honest but in it shares some woe…”.

And then we awake to a new day, a new month. A new year. I read we are picking up two dozen seconds more daylight with each sunrise, and out front the Easter elm, as I call it, holds most of its leaves still green.

May you and your family be blessed throughout this new year.

Yours, srk