The owls who nest in my former blue spruce

...a dispatch from bewilderness

During the years I lived in the City, ambulance sirens were such a regular feature that mockingbirds learned to imitate their scream. Then there was an accident, and I was in an ambulance. And then? I was moved to a home in the country nine hours south of my life before.

There I watched the river rise and fall and the mountains and the sky. And heard the sound of silence or crickets or tree frogs or birds or rain or thunder. No sirens. I picked armfuls of hydrangea blooms. Plus rosemary, lavender, cilantro, basil just by walking out my door. And there was thyme. Bushes of thyme.

I watched mommy birds use their wings to fly and feed and hug and teach babies how to fly. Bird song is like temple bells. It may not suppress pain, but it can help us ride it like surfers ride swells.

Four months each year, I picked from the blueberry tree. There’s no such thing as a blueberry tree, but there were two bushes that intertwined as one and grew 10 feet tall and 12 feet across.

I stood on my tiptoes for higher branches and knelt for low-hanging fruit. I will remember fragments. Sunlight on blankets. Leaves falling gently. Birds flying home. My daughter is not flying home. Being her mom made me feel real. I thought that “real” meant forever. It didn’t.

At evening, there were constellations sprinkling the sky. Sometimes the stars were like a blanket of diamonds. By day, I imagined wonderful things and brought some to life. I built homes for birds with weathered wood and wrote with weathered words.

I might not have thought to make homes for birds had I not lost my own home and my child. Now I have to move again. The owls who nest in my blue spruce...will soon be the owls who nest in my former blue spruce. If I fell apart, it would be worse. Or maybe it would not be worse. Maybe it could not be worse.

The days leading up to Mother’s Day are sad for me. Have been for many years. I hope always for a card. Prayer is about hope. It’s not about having each request answered by God. Lots of times, the answer is No. But I try to make the most of the good things each day.

A home for birds from salvaged wood