A few weeks ago I groggily staggered down the stairs in search of coffee or tea or anything with caffeine in it that had a chance of helping me claw my way to consciousness. Halfway down the staircase I paused, having heard the sweet and long missed sound of a bird. I was very excited and opened my front door only to find the sound got quieter, not louder. As it turns out I had forgotten I had set an alarm on my cell phone for 6:30AM. The phone is always left downstairs since I wake up if a bug walks across the lawn, let alone the "ping, ping" of Facebook messages about talking cats. To say I was disappointed doesn't quite cover it.
This morning, however, as I lay in bed saying my ever-lengthening prayers for my friends and the world and just for the privilege of waking up, I heard a mourning dove. And THIS one was coming from the tree outside my window.
Global warming is no joke, and it's been a very strange winter here in New England and elsewhere. There has been very little snow on the coast near Boston and yesterday I could have gone out with a decent weight sweatshirt. The plus side of it (I guess) is that the birds seem to be arriving earlier than usual, too. It's hard to put into words why I can't stop smiling when I hear them. I don't own any birds. I keep them outside in the trees where I feel they belong. But with each soft, sad coo I am reminded that spring, is indeed, coming.
There have been starlings and pigeons and cardinals and crows and some very brave robins who have hung around all winter, and I am very grateful for them always. The songbirds, I must admit, have a special place in my heart. They have the ability to attract my attention the way a squirrel does for a dog. I am no naturist (is that the one who loves nature or the other word for nudist? I never remember) but the miracle which is spring shocks and thrills and leaves me gob-smacked every year. With all the war, the hatred, the natural disasters, the illness and death we have been reading about and which have left us feeling overwhelmed and helpless, I am more than ready to welcome these feathered messengers as they "perch in my soul" bringing joy and a hope that there is still something to celebrate.
This morning, however, as I lay in bed saying my ever-lengthening prayers for my friends and the world and just for the privilege of waking up, I heard a mourning dove. And THIS one was coming from the tree outside my window.
Global warming is no joke, and it's been a very strange winter here in New England and elsewhere. There has been very little snow on the coast near Boston and yesterday I could have gone out with a decent weight sweatshirt. The plus side of it (I guess) is that the birds seem to be arriving earlier than usual, too. It's hard to put into words why I can't stop smiling when I hear them. I don't own any birds. I keep them outside in the trees where I feel they belong. But with each soft, sad coo I am reminded that spring, is indeed, coming.
There have been starlings and pigeons and cardinals and crows and some very brave robins who have hung around all winter, and I am very grateful for them always. The songbirds, I must admit, have a special place in my heart. They have the ability to attract my attention the way a squirrel does for a dog. I am no naturist (is that the one who loves nature or the other word for nudist? I never remember) but the miracle which is spring shocks and thrills and leaves me gob-smacked every year. With all the war, the hatred, the natural disasters, the illness and death we have been reading about and which have left us feeling overwhelmed and helpless, I am more than ready to welcome these feathered messengers as they "perch in my soul" bringing joy and a hope that there is still something to celebrate.
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