The wind is blowing and the snow is flying. And the birds are here, their small bodies circling the area where I feed them. They are waiting. I sweep the snow away and throw out the seed, then watch them come. They are my faithful friends and I want to be faithful to them. They know where I feed them—the seldom used dog pen outside the back door, where the cats don’t go. What amazes me is how, each morning, the sight of them outside my sun room window brings the same thrill as the day before. Having something like this seems essential for the soul. For one person, it might be the dusk, bringing in the night. For another, the blooming geranium on the window sill. For my mother, it was a robin. I can’t name all the types of birds that I watch each day, but I notice the delicate gray feathers on this tufted titmice, the lovely pale breast of that female cardinal, the sweet shyness of this junco. No bird is exactly alike, as no snowflake is identical.
Apples in a Pot
I met a woman
who had brain tumors
and after doctors
removed them
she couldn’t focus enough
to read.
Since then
every morning
she paints the sunrise.
“Do they all look different?”
I asked her.
“To me they do,”
she said
though admitted that when she
hung them in a gallery
people wondered,
“Why so many pictures of
the same thing?”
My mother tames robins
calling them to her porch
feeding them what’s left
of her breakfast toast.
She had a special one in June
and mentioned him each day.
“How do you know it’s the same one?”
I asked.
“I just know,”
she said.
Before her 96th birthday
I asked her what she wanted.
“I don’t need anything,”
she replied.
“And, besides, I have a robin.”
Today I am peeling apples
picked from a tree
belonging to a friend’s mother.
Each one is different
in shape
in size
in the placement of
the worm holes.
They are going in a pot of water
to be boiled,
sugar and cinnamon added
to make applesauce.
I will share some with my mother.
I would like to share some with the woman
who does sunrises.
Maybe I will buy one of her paintings
and when I see it
framed on my wall
I will think about
sunrises
and robins
and apples in a pot.
September 9, 2010
My mother passed away January 27 at the age of 98. I can’t share my homemade applesauce with her anymore, but I can feed the birds. And I can continue to find their presence, each bird unique unto itself, just as wonderful as the day before.
.
Love u, Ann. This is beautiful.
So beautiful, Ann. Your mother left you such lovely memories and such a shining soul. Blessings. xo
So many lucky birds and animals have found their way to your charming country home and to your heart. So many lucky people too. You have the same gift of warm hospitality and caring that your mother had. I don’t think there were any strangers in her life…..Thanks for sharing this lovely post.
Heart full and overflowing, relationship strong and dear, the birds will always be there to remind. They visit me too.