I never considered myself a bird watcher, but there is a nest of baby birds in the trellis on our back porch and lately I've been noticing how beautiful the tiny creatures are. It makes me want to wear a funny hat and buy a book so I can identify them all.
It reminds me that my husband's grandfather and grandmother were birdwatchers. Nannie still gets excited when she sees them.
I've also taken to sitting on the back porch in the morning drinking my coffee, feeling the cool breeze through my admittedly scary hair. The sounds of the morning (and the babies chirping in their nest) lulling me into a peace before I start my day-just like my mom likes to do.
When I gaze at my son(more beautiful to me than any bird could be) I see that he sleeps in the same position my father used to sleep in-on his side with his arm casually draped over his legs. That he has his father's mouth. That his blue eyes come from me.
Next year, people that we love today may not be here anymore. Their passing will pain us-undoubtedly so. But, there will be new baby birds-new babies, and their legacy will live on through us.
How many times has my mother been reminded of her husband when I smile? How many memories does my grandmother carry with her when she sees a bird she recognizes? How many mornings of peace does my mother have left?
How many do I?
2 comments:
Your posts have a very lyrical poetic feel. I like your voice and look forward to reading more in the coming months.
Yes indeed, how many days have each of us got. That's something none of us know. Enjoy your mum and your baby. And those baby birds.
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