The birds are not as needy, coming less to the feeders, instead looking for nesting materials and sturdy tree branches to start new families. The squirrels are springing from spot to spot on the lawn, locating hidden treats, surprised each time they find one.
My road is decimated, the product of last fall's new waterline project and exacerbated by the cars, buses, and trucks that refuse to slow down despite pothole craters and orange pylons. The muck will continue and worsen as the crews return soon to dig out my front yard for new sidewalks and ultimately, installing new road asphalt. It will be worth it, but in the meantime, oh, my car axles and aching back from the ever-worsening last quarter mile to home!When the dogs awakened me for their early morning backyard jaunt, the bird songs were almost deafening in the still darkened trees. I easily separated the chickadee lilt and cardinal multi-tone, but still had a few to identify. I know they are searching my seasoned trees for branches on which to build their homes. Every year I have new avian families settle in nearby and it is a thrill to hear the timid chirps from the little ones when the nests are low enough.
Everyday living is stressful. So many things I can't control or change despite my best efforts. I question my effectiveness and place in the world, and whether I actually have the leadership skills and creative abilities I have always thought were my strengths. In the midst of the reassessment I have been forced to do relentlessly for close to two years now, the small comforts come from the predictability of things like bird songs and potholed streets and spring rains. If only the small things, the comforting things, had the ability to change the things which sadly control our lives.
I try to always listen for the bird songs.
The writing you do and your tenacity in keeping lines of communication open between yourself and the listening world serve as your truest toehold on perspective, even, perhaps, on sanity. You might disagree with me, but the power of language is one of my few convictions, one of the very few things I feel passionate about, so I’m on my soapbox here.
ReplyDeleteThere can be no question as to the cathartic value of just putting feelings and observations down in words. They can be entirely private, or widely disseminated; endowed with a kind of permanence, or tossed off without a backward thought. I’m neither a published nor a prolific writer, but language lives in me…it builds up pressure over time. While it’s of small importance how it’s dispersed, the release is essential to the soul’s equilibrium and repose.
I wholly admire your daily discipline of committing language to print. I can only imagine what it must cost you, some days, to do this. But I am absolutely convinced that it’s fundamentally the best thing you can do for yourself.
It is all I can do some days. Very true. Thank you for recognizing it.
DeleteHI! I like your blog!
ReplyDelete