late-Feb'09 I feed birds. I buy Bird Seed from the feed store & dole it out for the birds. I spend far too much money on this but I think it's a fine substitute for mindless moments, maybe other-wise directed in places that aren't so full of what I like to call eye candy. For me, I feel that their marvelous fascinating lifestyles, as expressed by their involvements/relationships with nature and each other great show. It's the nature part that 'gets' me every time; is so attractive & intriguing. The more I immerse myself, the better it 'feels'; or so the soul of my spirit intuits. In this frame of mind, in these moments, I feel as if I am learning about mysteries I've often pondered, & was growing in some way. This pleases my thinker. Maybe this reaction doesn't hold so true for other people, (or whatever,) but this is my ever-growing sense. ¶ Originally: In that silent vernacular that we use to 'discuss' with ourselves, the birds was only the turkeys, but after a dozen years in this mode while living so close to nature in this hermitage studio I built so far away, the birds has become expanded to include the other kinds who've found this amenable feed source just 12 feet outside of my bunkside window, at my eye level while reclining there. The ½-dozen dark blue-black pointy-headed pushy Stellers jays; the rare appearance of a thrush or 2; another ½-dozen Myrtle robins; plus 3-dozen small juncos, a dozen Quail; & the ½-dozen deer who come along to lick up the spillage every dusk. Their fluttering comings, goings, and nervous jittery peckings of the seed into beaks, plus pecking order shenanigans, beat any other media 'alternative,' hands down, lemme tellya. The turkeys, who got this bird thing all started in the first place—or was it the book: The Return of the Bird Tribes?—& I could joke about how it's all their fault, but know better—are now gone into their third generation of survival in the wild—currently,10 of them: 2 toms & 8 hens. They spend all their time out in the wilder portions up & across the hillside above & to the north of the studio, except for jaunts over or down to birdseed heaven. ¶ Now, being an old guy, I spend a lot of time reclining in my bunk (not a mattress bed). At my right shoulder's height, my bedside window predominates; plus one at my feet, feed the images of birds populating the airwaves & apple tree branches right outside with endless streams of colorful raw activity to tingle my peripheral vision and tickle my fancy as I read, write, or listen to the radio. ¶ As I was propped up there the other afternoon, there erupted a “Whomp!” thud against the window at my feet with enough force as to prompt me to put on clothes & shoes to venture out into the drizzly coolness to investigate. Outside, lying on its side in the slimy apple tree leaf mold/mud mix was a smallish brown bird I'd never seen before; not quite as big as the robins here. Maybe 5 inches tall with a wing span of 10. It's still winter outside. I know its chances for surviving a head-on into hard glass while lying there on its side weren't as good as they might ought to be, if cuddled in the loosely-cupped palms of my gentle hands at my heart/breast while sitting in the warmth near the wood stove. I pressed it's exquisitely soft still-warm body to my ear and it appeared to still have a heartbeat; there was 'noise' in there. I cuddled it back against my heart. 3 or 4 minutes passed until movement. Then, one eye fluttered open, revealing a large yellow eye that instantly told me: 'Geez! It's an owl!' exclaimed my surprised inner voice to itself. It closed again. I know indigenous peoples regard owls as sacred and bearers of good omens, & wonder: was this one? With the end of my middle finger, I softly rubbed around its right eye where he'd obviously taken the brunt of the impact. At about the 6 minute mark, he (& I just know he was a he & not a she; don't ask me to try to explain this fairly-accurate, call it, sense I posses) opened his right eye & the left one & blinked a few times; then struggled to get his extremities functioning again and under control. This accomplished, I rose and slid my bedside window open & set him on the sill's outer edge so that all he could see were the trees & grassy hillside. But no: He turned his head darn near full circle, like owls do and, as he focused his gaze directly into mine, it instantly triggered recall of the 800 pound sleek black sea lion's gaze, 39 years ago, that triggered the same sense of, call it, 'intelligence' I received from my little charge. He began to wobble a bit. 'Still somewhat dazed,' I thought and gently gathered him (gosh! is he soft) and brought him to my neck where he could 'hear' my heartbeat while snuggled under my beard for a minute or 2. He then came alive, as it were, & I went to place him on the sill again, but he flew off back into my room and whammed himself right back into the inside of the same window where he'd laid this omen(?) on me in the first place; but stayed in flight against the unrelenting window's surface until I was able to gather his busy busy body and hand him through the window this time and open my cupped palms to his freedom from all this madness. I was quite happy to see him fly straight & true up the 50 feet into the upper midsection of a small Douglas fir tree growing about thirty feet uphill from my point-of-view, thus indicating that he'd received no structural damage, though his noggin took a significant wallop; must a real hard skull, I guess. No matter his diminutive size might suggest he was a juvenile, the strength of his struggles, coupled with the wisdom (?) I sensed in his gaze, 'told' me he was a mature bird. Fancy that; A 5 inch tall mature owl.¶ And do you know?: I think it's these sometimes-seeming nearly inconsequential tiny events that do turn one's life or, at least, bits of his/her perspective around some. Is this what an omen is? Is anything really random? As I wend my way along this new year's course, I find myself continuing to await the answer while keening my awareness to be more alert for 'signs.' (?) ¶ Happycamper, here, hopes this finds you well enough & finding joy, etc. I may have somewhat surreptitiously & inadvertently proposed whatever 'marriage' we might settle upon that wouldn't threaten Fran's continuity-of-SSI eligibility, in a gesture of good faith; rationalizing that such a reconciliatory gesture might help to easy up some of our familial senses-of-discomforts about not being the kind of cohesive unit that familial concerns deserve to have for the best chances at achieving a sense-of-satisfaction about how one's life is materializing, and etc. Haven't heard back from her yet. Will be interested to see her reaction. I send encouragement, attagirl s, and good wishes on your behalf from her on in forward. Go, go, go, no matter where or what or why or ?????
LUVing thoughts frum yer dad: mistah Fo'man, sir, mam, missy, sister, lady, daughter . . .LUV
No comments:
Post a Comment