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Restless Spirit I (Photo credit: Bill Liao)

I know if you could help me in any way, you would. There is no doubt in my mind, not a second’s hesitation that your “hands are tied.” Did you think I ever doubted that? No, not once. I know you would move the stars and the earth and the moon and the seas to help make sense of my life, to our life, to guide us on an easy path.

But, that’s not your job, I understand, really I do. You sent me signs and I was so grateful: a bird, our numbers, songs: My Immortal,by Evanescence, Dance With My Father Again, by Luther Vandross.

You knew I was there at the hospital everyday, you and I were the ones that counted. She remembers the day before you died but you did that on purpose, you wanted to see me laughing at you sticking out your tongue, how we heard over the loudspeaker that my car was about to be towed.

I miss you, Daddy, but I know you are with me.

I believe.

 

/photo credit Bill Liao

Love, Like Birds

Cardinal (Photo credit: BlueRidgeKitties)

When I heard the cardinal sing its pretty song, for the first time in a very long time, I stopped dead in my tracks to listen. I was in a crowded parking lot but yes, I was being careful. What sound could be more important and more beautiful than that of a cardinal singing its sweet song after a relentless winter.(With no assurance that it is really over)

I happen to have a crush on cardinals more than other birds, I must admit.They have a special family memory for me. The handsome vibrant red male, his “wife” the beautiful, red-gray dancer singing from one to the other, always together like a comforting, well-balanced, special relationship. They look out for one another, they feed each other, they always communicate in song, first one than the other.

I know, we all know, it’s been too long a winter, we can’t change it but the sounds of cardinals and the perfect blue sky, the weather in the upper 40’s makes it seem like we are on vacation, somewhere South. It doesn’t take much to make us happy now.

I wouldn’t say the trees are budding but they  also aren’t as buck naked as they used to look. They have the promise of blooming, of bringing life on a day like today. It was the beauty of the unexpected, the thing that happens that surprises you, not the droning ritual of a nasal forecaster.

The window of my car was open to let the breeze in, my radio turned up loud, of course the songs were just what I wanted to hear. Today was special, yesterday was freezing, I’m grateful for this moment in time. Spring isn’t here yet but I can see that it really will happen, someday soon.

Related articles

• First cardinal song of the year (naturesurrounds.wordpress.com)

Photo Credit: BlueRidgeKitties from Wikipedia

Haiku Heights: Bats

Bats (Photo credit: fatedsnowfox)

Bat (Photo credit: Lee Carson)

English: Echolocating bats adjust their vocalizations to catch insects against a changing environmental background. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Wretched, beady-eyed

evil destruction, black wings

touch my hair, spit, scream.

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*Birds, I squealed, look, dad

clinging, high pitch, flying, close

Go to mom, lock door!

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*When I was four or five, there were bats in our apartment which was on the top floor. My father shooed my mom and me into the bedroom while he would take care of them. Armed with a towel or two he played hero while my mother and I hid. He told us to come out when it was safe. I remember sitting on his shoulders as he took me around to reassure me. Around the corner I remember squealing quite happily:” Look, Daddy, Birdie.” Sure enough there was one bat left. Again, we locked ourselves in the room until this bat too was swatted out of our sixth floor window. To this day, I am absolutely terrified of bats. I can barely look at them (even the photos in this post) and if one flew near my head I would most likely scream, fall to the floor and faint. Happily.I have a terribly phobia of bats now.

When my daughter was little and we went to the zoo, she took my hands and led me away to protect me from seeing the bats. I have never forgotten that and I never will. Thank you, sweetheart.

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all photos property of the owners.

Haiku Heights – Red

pink roses (Photo credit: srqpix)

I saw blood, soaked, rags

flint made, exploding anger

Couple burst in flames.

***

The last page written

in smudged charcoal,  painter’s ink

news, her last good-bye.

***

Into the dark night

a bird whistle blows softly

Red and black beak cry.

***

A blush of pink rose

Happy Valentine’s Day, love

Just let me whisper.

Haiku Heights – BLUE

ink on a pin / underneath the skin (Photo credit: kathleenjoyful)

Memory stabs her

Like a flailing, fragile bird

Sadness punctures holes.

I’m Sorry, Birdies

Dear Birds Right Outside My Bedroom Window,

I would like to take this opportunity to formally apologize for muttering bad words and complaining about your recent happy chirping while I was desperately trying to get more sleep at 5:30 AM. How dare I complain when I feed you and encourage you to visit?

I love watching all my birds but a special apology and shout out go to the “Cardinal Family” who brighten each day with their flashes of red beauty across a white sky. I feel especially guilty because you KNOW I always welcome you with great love and joy. I always smile when you come and I listen joyfully to your songs and I watch you feed each other; you are a blessing of nature. Again, I am so sorry; please forgive this one mishap. I feel bad enough, believe me. Those who really know me will tell you how sincere I am. If you would like, references are available on request.

Since this happened a few days ago I have been wracked with guilt. There was no reason for me to take my grouchiness and lack of a good night’s sleep out on you. No excuses. Your songs were beautiful, as always, and I know you were just talking to each other and singing and you have every right to do that. Even though my cranky rant was muttered into my pillow, I know you heard me. I am a disgrace to human kind.

I see the bird feeder is running a little low on your favorite black sunflower seeds. For my punishment, I will drag my lazy behind from the bed to the outdoor shed and refill it immediately. I’m sorry that you don’t like me wasting seeds by throwing them on the grass for the squirrels, but they are my friends too. We all need to share and you know they can’t reach YOUR bird feeder anymore.

Rest assured birdies (and no pun was intended) I will not complain again. Instead, I will try to enjoy the (um, early) day and I will sit down at the kitchen table with my extra-strong mug of espresso/Starbucks mix and I will raise my cup to thank you for all the good times we have shared.

Your Friend,

Hibernationnow

I Will Pay For This (But I Don’t Care)

Image via Wikipedia

This afternoon was a day that gave birds reason to fly and sing. The budding trees are smiling with green flowers, the sky is light blue with puffy cotton-candy clouds. I wanted to do something that I haven’t done for so long because the pain I have from Fibromyalgia stops me. Today I wouldn’t let it; I refused. I went to the tiny patch of garden we have in the front lawn and replanted a pot full of old flowers into the ground. Granted, I couldn’t kneel because I knew I would never be able to get up but I improvised. I admit digging the dirt with just a little hand shovel was too hard but I gave it my best try. After that I hauled my eighteen year old son out, who cursed the entire time, to dig deeper for me. He doesn’t get gardening, doesn’t understand the point of it but he doesn’t have to; he just needs to help me when I ask. I also bought a little plant  at the grocery store today that looks like a round puffy white ball with red and white edges. I planted this little sweet flower by myself.  I pointed out a worm to my son, forgetting he’s 18 and not 7, and that amused me but not him.

After that I went into our shed and got out bird food for the cardinals. I have wanted to do that, literally, for years. Today, with the weather encouraging me, I did it. I felt bad in the winter when I couldn’t go in the backyard for fear of slipping in a foot of snow and ice but I knew the birds would forgive me. There are black sunflower seeds now in the lopsided bird feeder and some on the grass and the table because I don’t mind feeding squirrels either.

Doing these things made me feel alive even if now I am so stiff and achy I can barely move.  My back already hurts on my right side and my trusty old heating pad is in its proper place. I know I wasn’t standing or  bending the right way; but it doesn’t matter. This was good for my spirit: earth, grass, flowers, birds, sun and the wild wind bouncing off the houses and trees and through my shiny brown hair. Today, I felt normal, human,  real and I felt happy.

I had forgotten how much I like to put my hands in the earth, smell the musky scent, feel the softness of the dirt intertwined with harsh roots. The earth didn’t mind that my fingers were swollen and even my joint pain got swallowed up in the beauty of the sun-kissed daffodils. I will not complain tomorrow even if I am twisted into a painful pretzel. Today, I needed to do this, I needed to feel like I was part of the world. I wanted to feed the chirpy bright red cardinals that wake me up in the morning and even the fuzzy, fat squirrels that my dog wishes she could play with.  I wanted to replant something that was old and try putting something new and dainty in the ground. I brought out my empty plastic jug of pomegranate lemonade, filled it with fresh water and tended to my two plants. My knees are stiff and I had trouble walking down the stairs to get to the kitchen tonight holding on to the banister with every ounce of strength that I had left. Today, I learned, that maybe more pain is worth it if it means feeding your own soul.

Optimist or Pessimist?

Just call me a “wide-eyed POPTIMIST.”

Bird Houses / 20071230.10D.46705 / SML

I think the word to describe me would have to be “Poptimist.” Let me explain. On the outside I am, without a doubt, a pessimist. I worry, I feel stressed, I imagine the worse. I annoyed my college friends when I thought for sure I had failed a test and then got a 98. I used to be so nervous every time I took a test that I thought for sure I had failed miserably. I held my breath when the professor handed the tests back. I sweated and trembled and thought I would vomit with anxiety. I always expected a 54, circled in bright red marker to further call me out as a loser. Honestly, that is what I really believed. I’m a horrible test taker and I never knew how I did. I just assumed I had failed even though I studied for hours on end. It was always such a welcome relief to get, not only a passing grade, but a really good grade. Self-protection? Of course. Defense mechanism? ABSOLUTELY! As I got older I became more of a pessimist; my mother is a die- hard pessimist and I know I got a lot of that from her. Nature and nurture. My father was an optimist for most of his life. Perhaps I have a tiny, hidden bit of my optimistic father deep inside me. I worry BEFORE I know the outcomes of things, call it anticipatory anxiety if you will. Yes, I do meet worry half way. I actually go up and greet worry and practically invite it home for lunch. But, way deep down, once in a while, there is a small voice, like a tiny, quietly chirping bird, hidden by a brightly colored bird house, that makes me feel if I make it through the stressful process, it just might turn out to be alright in the very end.