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Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Morning Reflection/Another Lesson from Nature

     Still feeling the effects of our harsh winter as the tree man is cutting down three trees which didn't survive the cold. They weren't big trees but they filled their space with a delicate, youthful beauty and the yard seems empty and bereft without them. The tree man pointed out another tree with a huge split down the center. Winter wind damaged this tree, he said, but it should survive. He did suggest we cover its roots with mulch to keep them better protected. Hopefully, this tree will, as the tree man suggested, heal itself.
     I'm learning, of course, that there are no guarantees. Nature can be as devastating as it is breathtakingly beautiful. 

          The moods and mysteries of nature tender a vivid reflection of our own.


Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Lessons from a House Wren




shyly at first...
For a little less than a week last month, I had a daily visitor to my back porch ~ a small bird who quite literally spent each entire day serenading one of two dragonfly screen patches on my back door. Most of my day was spent trying to capture the sweetness of the bird's small form, the beauty of her simple serenade. I wondered if the little bird believed that the dragonfly was alive... was she trying to illicit a response? extending an invitation? Hour after hour, day after day, she came ~ shyly at first and then more closely, more boldly, more insistently. I got little writing done as I watched and snapped pictures when she visited, waited and deleted my blurry attempts when she left.


..and then more closely, more boldly...

 On the morning the bird stopped coming, I missed her. I still miss her and can scarcely let my mind wander beyond the screen without wondering where my little visitor is and what she wanted.

A friend of mine believes that the bird was a house wren and suggests I find consolation knowing that she, most likely, continues to nest somewhere in my yard. The thought does cheer me although my blue dragonflies are a daily reminder that my little companion is gone. How silly to become so attached to one little bird who didn't even know of my existence, to care so much about a tiny wren when so many bigger, showier birds visit my yard daily.  

My little house wren left her mark. I'll think of her often and recall the lesson she taught me by her simple presence. Life is beautiful and fragile, full of unexpected loveliness and tender song. It should be appreciated moment by exquisite moment. 

The wren's devotion to my blue dragonfly evoked another lesson as well. Like the wren, I've sometimes found myself pitching and  pleading to an unresponsive block of stone. Like the wren, I've learned that sometimes, it's best to spread our wings, to fly away and find companions who will understand and cherish us.

I hope my little visitor has found a companion worthy of her sweet song!


I'll think of her often!