Morning Tree


morning tree

Early shadows dancing

Near siding the color of buff

God’s gift of nature balancing

On branches….hiding

Listen closely, a chirp, a tweet

Cup your hand

Sweet songs to hear

A tiny rooftop home 

Swings side to side

Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye

Do not stop for fear 

Feathered wings shall soar

Toward skies of azure blue

Suddenly all is clear

No longer can I resist

Hopping up to peek inside the ‘O’

Ahhh…..baited breath beholds

A tiny toasted colored nest

In the bosom of infinite rest

Speckled sparrow eggs

1-2-3-4 for me to see

Warming in my Morning Tree

DSC_0938

Miracles in the Merry Month of May


A short time ago a new resident moved into a little house hanging from a tree outside my office window. It is so pleasant to know that my new neighbor is near. Whenever I glance outside my turret window glass, there is a tiny gray house trimmed in blue with a “Welcome” sign for me to see.

Before pulling into my garage over the weekend, I noticed tail feathers of royal blue and black sticking outside the entrance of a bungalow. In the past, the round of the door was clear and open, allowing no feathers to be seen. Often, the beak of Mama Bird could be seen slightly sticking through an invisible screen. There I presume, she sat on a nest keeping her gorgeous blue eggs warm until it was time….

Parking my car quickly, I ran over to the tree where the little house hung for me to see. So excited at the thought of what was to be! Grasping a rough gray branch to steady myself, I climbed atop the flat surface of a limestone boulder. Swinging slightly under a canopy of freshly blooming leaves smiled the familiar Welcome sign.

Swoosh! Tail feathers abruptly flew away. My heart pounded while I held my breath…1-2-3, before I squinted to see. The whole of the house was dark and quiet to the outside world, surrounded by wall to wall warmth. All hand-made by God’s miracle of nature. One tiny beak had created an artist’s masterpiece to prepare for birth. How many days had it taken her? How many hours or minutes or seconds? How long had she labored before and afterward? https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Eastern_Bluebird/lifehistory

Too dim to capture a photograph, I can only describe what my eyes did see. Three itty-bitty newborns, barely hours old, scrunched together in order to remain warm. They were wrinkly, bald and beautiful. Tufts of fluff seemed to be patched here and there. On top of their heads, near wings and underneath. Their oversized eyes remained shut while they slept like any newborns would. I was in awe!

After going back inside to work, I opened a window. Just then, Mama bird landed on a branch with a wiggly worm between her beak dangling in chestnut color. Her newborn’s first meal perhaps? Seconds later, she flew to join Father Bird who waited patiently above, before they chirped cheerfully.

Since then, I’ve seen the parents every day, working together to feed their brood. Their songs greet me morning, noon, and night in a lyrical melody that captures my heart.

Miracles in the Merry Month of May.

*three photos to the left courtesy of Google Chrome

A Room With The Perfect View


http://www.mowildlife.org/

It’s early and quiet here, barely the birds are chirping yet. No one moves about the house, not even my Doodle dog. To the east, the sun is rising in painted chalk colors of corals and pinks against the blues of aqua. A pine branch brushes against my office window pane, startling me. Ooooh, I see the faint fluttering of robin wings! Suddenly, they take a flight to the right, gathering twigs of nearby trees. I’m in a room with the perfect view!

Such a sight reminded me of a long-ago spring when my children were young. They’d go off to school before I washed dishes at a green pepper sink beneath my kitchen window. To the left was a wooden door made of eight panes of glass. It led to a lovely covered patio where given the chance, I read a chapter from a cloth-covered book, sipped crushed iced tea or snuck a nap before the kids awakened me.

Under the covered patio sat a natural rattan chair next to a potted plant of bright red geraniums. Such a contrast the two colors were, the beige of the chair next to the radiant red of blazing flowers. It looked like a picture from, Better Homes and Gardens. I used to tender the plant like another child, carefully watering it while plucking curled leaves from thriving ones, afraid they’d suck precious life away from the others.

One morning, two robins flew back and forth between the blue of the sky and my precious red geranium. They carried twigs and bits of cloth between their beaks. Building a nest, I surmised. What to do? If I did not interfere, my treasured plant might die…if I did, where would their featherless babies be born?

Motherly instincts gave in, allowing the birds to continue. Before long, I tip-toed to the nest nearly every day, discovering yet another egg of robin blue safe within its refuge of brown twigs, twine, and mud. Occasionally, I’d catch the mother sitting there, looking at me as if to say, “Who are YOU?” In the beginning, she flew away. In the end, she let me stay.

It wasn’t long before I heard the squawking of baby chicks from my window screen. Both Mother and Father robins took turns feeding their naked newborns who were barely able to lift bald heads or stretch wrinkled necks. When not pecking for worms, Mother Bird sat on top, keeping her featherless young perfectly warm.

The babies grew quickly with luck on my side! Nature hadn’t taught them to fear me. I used to visit them often, stopping by to say, “Hello,” or to tell them of my day. I even coddled soft feathers with a tip of my finger after their mother flew away. The Wildlife Rescue Center had told me it’s a “Myth” that birds can smell. I brought them no harm and was careful in every way. Soon, I found myself attached to the growing balls of feathered fluff. They were miracles to me, teaching me wonders never found in a book.

Eventually, the day came when Mother Bird taught her babies how to fly and leave their nest. I saw them from my window. Yes, I had a room with the perfect view. One by one, each feathered friend stepped on the edge of my geranium plant, using it as a perch. Flapping golden wings lit by the sun, in winds that only God can kiss, they fought to stay in the air. Some fell slightly before floating back up like miniature biscuit colored balloons. Up, up, up into the sky. Squinting, I saw patches of orange-red breasts flying toward heaven. Wistfully, I waved, “Good-bye.”

Turning to save what was left of red flowers and yellow leaves, I saw one last little bird perched, afraid to take the plunge. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, wanting him to stay, yet knowing he too, must leave the nest. In the distance, his family called to him. It was as if they cheered him on. “Come’on, you can do it, we’re here waiting for you!” With that, he flapped his wings fast and hard, jumping off into the unknown while I cried my eyes out.

The next spring I purchased another geranium plant, hoping again to have a room with the perfect view…..

 

*Photography courtesy of Google Chrome

No Vacancy!


Only a couple of weeks ago, there were abandoned homes in my neighborhood. Small, empty shells of former families. Mothers and fathers and babies too, who lived there until nature ran its course.

I’m happy to say this has changed. Spring seems to be the reason. It’s the season. Signs of activity are everywhere. Sticks for rehabbing lay near a bungalow of blue. A few onlookers too. Suddenly there aren’t enough homes to go around.

Yesterday, two women were arguing over a wooden house freshly painted in green. It was a sight I wouldn’t have believed, yet there they were, only a few feet away from me. One seemed to be the bully. She was bigger than the other, and it was obvious the house did not fit her needs. She barely could get through the front door! With head and body poked all the way inside, her tail feathers swished on the outside. Back and forth in colors of royal blue, black and white. They seemed to be ruffled and shook like a fan from side to side. She squeezed with all her might. “I think I can…I think I can.”

I watched as the smaller gal put up a fight. It was, after all, her right! She was pretty and plump. Beautiful too, in shades of sky blue with a bright red breast. The house seemed to be a perfect fit for her. She moved in with ease, staking a claim on what was to be her own. Within seconds, the bully gave up, flying off to find another house before all of the local real estate was swallowed up.

Last night I woke to a sound of banging against the tree outside my bedroom window. The new neighbor was busy building her nest, making sure all would be right for the eggs she would soon lay during the day or night.

I smiled a sleepy smile to think of the wonders of nature. New couples have moved into abandoned homes throughout my neighborhood. Hints of spring are everywhere. Before long, babies will be born.

No, I don’t believe there is a vacancy anywhere!

*pictures of birds courtesy of Google Chrome

Contrast


A Solitary Sunday.  With my spouse under the weather, the house is as quiet as a mouse.  Yes, it’s true.  I hear nothing.  Not even the scampering of soft fuzzy gray.  No grown children visiting today.  No toddlers to chase or grand-babies to rock.  The sound of silence is all around me.  Life is full of contrasts in this way.

The past week has been an unusual one.  Nearly every day the sun shined bright in the sky only to contrast at some point with the threat of foreboding storms.  Often when I looked up, charcoal gray skies floated above while blustery winds blew by.  Eventually, sheets of rain screamed sideways, this way and that.  Afterwards, silence befell before various sounds were heard.  Cracks of lightening followed by SNAPS.  Brushes of tree limbs fell to wet blades of emerald grass.  Swishes of leaves swept the air before landing in a loud crash.  Finally, rushing water flowed toward a cement street drain.  Gurgles of liquid dropped down..down…down.

The last several days have been full of contrast.  Clear blue skies altered with islands of darkness.  Eventually, clouds parted, allowing sparkling sun to peek from behind sounds of brief silence.  Minutes afterward, favorite feathered friends of mine began to sing sweet, familiar songs while flying to patio feeders.  Red cardinals, canary yellow finches, florescent blue buntings, cinnamon sparrows and red-breasted robins.

Life is full of contrast.  Eventually the glory of light brightens darkness while sweet sounds begin to snuff silence.

Contrast….

 

New Beginnings


Ahhh…new beginnings.  Soaking them in like a sponge in the sea.  While laying on my patio with sleepy eyes facing up my imagination sees the brightest blue ocean waving, “Good Morning.”   Yes, a teensy sail of white passing by.  There it goes….floating…..floating.

In real life, a turquoise watering can is filled to the brim.  Held in the right of my hand so heavy and full it nearly overflows.  Sprinkling ever so slowing…Yes, falling from tiny holes pierced through a round spout of white.  Cold, fresh and clear sustaining life to colors of new beginnings.

My annual painted pots, freshly planted last weekend sip straw rivers under the warmth of the sun.  I tend to them like newborn infants, gifts from God invisibly growing older each day.

To the side of a brown pot, a bright yellow petunia seems a bit taller today.  Nearby, greenery planted in an old bird-bath appears fuller and brighter in a way.  And, on my stoop of brick pavers, assorted flowers pushed to the depths of sooty earth sprout to shout words of inspiration to anyone who gives them a second glance…a smile…a chance.

A slight breeze of cool air whispers through trees of my little forest land.   There, new leaves of waxy green hang from limbs, sturdy and strong.  Hidden within, nests of new snug between two after a long season of winter.  Six different songs are heard from feathered friends while a woodpecker whittles away.

What is that I hear?  Look again to the sky.  There, a bright red cardinal flying by!

Ahhh…new beginnings!

 

 

Are You Listening?


globe7

 

 

 

 

 

A child of two or three takes steps you see

With coat and hat warm to be

On battered bricks of pebbled brown

Toddling on streets in square of town

Listening…listening to sounds he hears.

Where to go when feeling free

When feathers beckon to follow thee?

Fluttering wings and tilt of head with tail to catch

So close behind he’s almost there

Listening….listening to sounds he hears.

A magic bird held in arms that care

Angel wings with beak that sings.

Humming, whistling, caws and wooos….

Listening, listening to sounds he hears.

Painted Dreams


Eastern_Bluebird-27527-2

Bluebird so pretty to me

Flapping wings to and fro

Near spruce of blue

Bursting through grasses of green

 

Viewed at feeders 

Where small seeds of yellow

And bigger ones in shells of dark

Spill from rounds falling to ground

 

Squirrels so bushy in shades of fuzzy brown

Scurry and scamper to nibble

Leftovers from beaks of black

Before grey Morning Doves stop by

 

Bluebird so pretty to me

Flapping wings to and fro

What a sight to see

Strokes of orange breast below royal feathered backs

 

Soaring high against a sky of powdered baby-blue

Past branches and trunks of mottled bark

Where wildflowers grow scattered here and there

In rainbow colors everywhere

 

Suddenly flying wings disappear

Behold a grove of crayon pines

Hidden between needles never seen

Lies a secret shelter

 

Flapping wings of color have stopped

 A  nest made of twigs and printed paper

Woven in scented tree abandoned

Bluebird so pretty to me gone for now

 

Wishing to see soaring feathers of royal blue again

Splashes of orange breast floating on fluffy white

Clasping hands closing eyes so tight

Praying my painted dreams come true tonight

photo

 

Morning Tree


photo (2)

Early shadows dancing on buff colored siding,

God’s gift of nature balances on branches….hiding.

A chirp, a tweet, a song to sing,

Do not stop or feathered wings will soar into skies of azure.

Look closely now to see a tiny rooftop home swing from side to side

On a flowered arm, tempting me…..

Suddenly all is clear, I can’t resist

Hopping up to peek inside the ‘O.’

Ahhh…..baited breath beholds

A tiny toasted nest in a bosom of infinite blackness.

Speckled sparrow eggs…1-2-3-4,

Warming in my Morning Tree.

DSC_0938

 

 

A Room With the Perfect View


It’s so early and quiet here, barely the birds are chirping yet. No one moves about the house, not even my ‘Doodle’ dog. To the east, the sun is rising in painted chalk colors of corals and pinks against the blues of aqua. A pine branch brushes against my office window pane, startling me. Ooooh, I see the faint fluttering of robin wings! Suddenly, they take a flight to the right, gathering twigs of nearby trees. I’m in a room with the perfect view!

Such a sight reminded me of a long-ago spring when my children were young. They’d go off to school before I washed dishes at a green pepper sink beneath my kitchen window. To the left was a wooden door made of eight panes of glass. It led to a lovely covered patio where given the chance, I read a chapter from a cloth-covered book, sipped crushed iced tea or sneaked a nap before my children awakened me.

Hung from the ceiling, near a natural rattan chair, was a potted plant of bright red geraniums. Such a contrast the two colors were; the boring beige of the chair next to the radiant red of the beautiful, colored flowers. It looked like a picture from, Better Homes and Gardens. I used to tender the plant like another child, carefully watering it while plucking curled leaves from thriving ones, afraid they’d suck precious life away from the others.

One morning, two robins flew back and forth between the blue of the sky and my precious red geranium. They carried twigs and bits of cloth between their beaks. They were building a nest, I surmised. What was I to do? If I did not interfere, my treasured plant might die…if I did, where would future feathered babies be born?

My own motherly instincts gave in, allowing the birds to build their nest. Before long, I’d tip-toe to the nest nearly every day, where yet another egg of robin blue lay perfectly within its refuge of brown twine, twigs, and mud. Occasionally, I’d catch the mother sitting there, looking at me as if to say, “Who are YOU?” In the beginning, she flew away. In the end, she let me stay.

It wasn’t long before I heard the squealing and squawking of baby chicks from my window screen. Both mother and father robins took turns feeding their naked newborns who were barely able to lift wrinkled necks and bald heads. When not pecking for worms, Mother Bird sat on top, keeping her featherless young perfectly warm. Day after day, I grew enthralled by all of this. Yes, my plant of beautiful red geraniums was dying, but look at what I was living and learning!

The babies grew quickly with luck on my side because nature hadn’t taught them to fear me. I used to visit them, stopping by to say, “Hello,” or to tell them of my day. I even pet their soft feathers with a whisper of a tipped finger while their mother was away. Before doing so, I called the Wildlife Rescue Center who told me it was a “Myth” that birds can smell. I was bringing them no harm and careful in every way. Soon, I found myself attached to the fluffy, feathered balls. They were miracles to me, teaching me something new in ways one can never learn from a book.

Naturally, the day comes when a mother bird teaches her babies to fly, to leave the nest.  I could see them from my window. Yes, I had a room with the perfect view…plus an added tear or two. One by one, each feathered friend stepped to the perched ledge of my geranium plant. Flapping golden wings lit by the sun in winds that only God can kiss, they lifted into the air. Some fell slightly before floating back up like little beige balloons. Up, up, up into the sky.  I squinted high above against the sun to see patches of orange-red. Wistfully, I waved, “Good-bye.”

Turning to save what was left of my geranium plant, there at the edge of the ledge was a last little bird afraid to take the plunge. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, knowing in my heart that he too, must leave the nest. Off in the distance, his family called to him. They were not far, just a few feet away. It was as if they cheered him on. “Come’on, you can do it, we’re here waiting for you!” With that, the last little bird took the plunge. First down before up, until he soared off into the sky to meet his mother and father, sisters and brothers while I cried at my babies leaving the nest.

The next spring I purchased another geranium plant, hoping again that I’d have a room with the perfect view…..