Place Where You Live:

At My house

I feed the birds. They are expectant and I comply. Today my husband and I drove a half hour away for the seed they like. Forty five dollars for forty five pounds. Sam gulped and peeled off the currency. But it will cover the summer and fall and there is no waste. The return is birdsong that played and stayed in the background until someone told me I have cancer. Now it is up front and my awareness of their joy is exquisitely felt. The goldfinches hang in green leaves like jewelry. The ruby red head of the woodpecker outranks even the most gorgeous lipstick on the loveliest model in the glossiest fashion magazine.

The incredibly beautiful fox yips loudly into the air when someone…a cat?…makes her feel her cubs, not yet seen, are threatened. We see her, but not often. Her bark is very loud. It rips the quiet places and everyone pays attention.

The mourning doves have clutched twice and launched their children, but are nested close to the feeder. On the front porch the humming birds sip every ten minutes by the clock, guard their feeder from stray hummers and are glorious to watch. They are my outdoor decoration, and watching them ruby- throated…the only kind of hummer to grace Ohio…but the most beautiful, is a joy.As they feed, their long tongues housed in longer beaks, I am endlessly fascinated and feel entertained,amazed and absorbed in their little bodies as their wings hold them in place while they sip.

The evening sun lights the tree outside my bedroom and the finches glow, so brilliant a yellow that they look false. They face the sun as if they know their enhancement and revel in it. Slowed to a resting place, I take all this time to feed my spirit, storing away this experience against the day when slow and slower are my only speed. Selah.