For the Birds

I have several bird feeders situated outside my office window. During the spring and summer, there are hummingbird feeders, oriole feeders, and a seed feeder. During the fall, we switch out the hummingbird and oriole feeders for suet.

The bluejays stage in the trees surrounding our yard, waiting for my  husband to toss a handful of peanuts onto our deck. Not technically a feeder, but part of the avian feeding system he has devised. They fly in one at a time to snatch the nuts with nimble efficiency from the deck floor and flit away as the next dives in. I wonder who choreographs this feeding ballet.

The red-bellied woodpecker comes to feed alone. Occasionally I will see him perched on the weathered wooden seed feeder, but most of the time, he favors the suet. His balance seems precarious as he grabs the wire surrounding the suet with his feet and bends his body to peck at the suet, but he is well practiced and has a firm grip.

During the winter we sometimes get other woodpeckers, chickadees, juncos, mourning doves, finches, sparrows, and more. It always brightens my day to watch their entertaining behavior at and around the feeders.

Traveling

 

On my drive this morning, 

I passed a family of sandhills cranes 

congregating at the side of the road. 

 

A bald eagle soared high above

and a hawk flew straight and low. 

 

A group of turkey vultures spiraled 

above a stand of trees.

 

Alone in my car rushing down

asphalt highways, I marveled

at nature in action.

 

 

 

 

mist

 She sashays to

a waltz wafting on

the western wind

       

     Across moonlit marsh

above placid pond

over roiling river

 

She dances past dawn

softening the sunrise and

hushing the waking world

Heading Home

Shadows ferment and deepen as I walk home. I explore the confines of my mind, searching for distraction, even one word to riff with, to spin and disassemble, but all is silent. There's no noise around me either. It's like being wrapped in cotton gauze and tucked inside a bottle. 

My desire to explore is met with stiff resistance and I continue on my path, straight as a skeleton's ulna. Soon, a precious light comes into view, growing as I near. That's when I hear it. A choir of angels. I realize that I have wings and lift into the air, free at last.

The Serial Killer

I approach my victims with stealth and murderous intent. One by one, I pluck them from their destructive and self-absorbed lives.

For the most part, they never see it coming and before you know it, they are struggling for air, legs flailing until they are, at last, still. Later, I will discard their bodies and start again.

It may be a futile attempt given how many of them populate the area, but I do what I can to protect my precious flowers, no matter how lacy their leaves have become. Damn beetles!

descent

 I rush down the highland slope

compelled by gravity toward thinner air below

 

green gold and blue blur

trees bow at my passing

birds startle and

rivers shiver

 

all other sound is lost beneath

my roar

Life Before

 

Miranda left the store, list still clutched in her trembling hand. She dropped the paper in her purse and fished out her keys as she hurried to her car.

Once inside, she locked the doors and turned the air on full blast. She couldn’t be sure if it was another hot flash or adrenaline, but she felt in danger of spontaneous combustion.

It was not like her to be so bold, to take matters into her own hands. But the time for waiting was long past and action was imperative.

She had less than 2 hours left to check everything off her list.

Miranda pulled the list from her purse. It spanned the length of the #10 envelope in her tiny, measured block print. Fortunately, most of the items were already checked off.

She puts the car in gear and navigates the twists and turns to Rib Mountain State Park and parks near the visitor center. Her sturdy shoes carry her across the uneven path, through the maze of large rocks and to the tower.

She begins the climb. These are the last moments of “life before.”

As she reaches the third platform she pauses to look out over the city she’s always called home. It’s small by Chicago or Minneapolis standards but it holds everything she needs. All she is finally claiming and curating.

Finally at the top, out of breath but smiling, she carefully releases the paper cranes she made earlier in the day. Her heart flutters along with the paper as it makes its way to trees, bushes and ground. She feels good as she takes her list in hand and crosses off WATCH CRANES FLY and CLIMB RIB MOUNTAIN TOWER.

Only two items remain on her list and less than an hour before she begins chemo.

Quickly, before she can scold herself out of it, she grabs her pocketknife and carves her name in the top deck’s railing, then begins her descent.

She’s nearly back to her car when she remembers to cross CARVE NAME from her list and sees that there’s just one item left. She takes a moment to look around and notices a clump of hyssop. She snaps some stems and brings the flowers to her nose, inhaling deeply as she walks back to her car. She thinks that maybe she will plant some outside her condo as a reminder to SMELL THE FLOWERS every day.