The Birds Lately

This morning I wake up to the sound of a mourning dove, cooing outside. She must not be far from my bedroom window. (I wonder who she was mourning for–or if it is only dawn’s light making her cry.) When I get up, I go and stand in front of the kitchen sink to look out the window at the finch who is building her nest under the awning over the patio. Sometimes she startles away when she notices me. (Who has not felt the inclination to flee from something Bigger than we are, not knowing if that Presence intends us good or ill?) But she comes back. I hope she will feel safe enough to stay, no matter how many dishes I wash, especially once her eggs are laid. Birds build nests for a reason. (What are we building for?) I remember the hawk and the crow on Field Street, their nests in trees opposite one another. I think if this little finch stays at La Casa Flora, she will live long and sing with a glad heart. Here, the bird-feeder is full. There are no predators or scavengers in my pine tree.

what my eyes have seen!

a golden morning’s songbird–

memory’s darkness

Jane Beal
3.29 * La Casa Flora


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