The sturdy wood bird feeder outside my kitchen window tells me stories. Ok, it's I who think the stories and create the metaphors, but what happens there truly is about struggle, conflict, hunger, satiety, and predation; it's also about the pure expressions of existence. The joy and drama of it all.
Trying to outmaneuver an aging squirrel, or a smart young chipmunk, by Googling ways to deter them from devouring the seed I put out for the cardinal couple, the nuthatches and all the rest, leaves me perplexed. Sometimes I go so far as to curse and fume at the audacity of these pests. My husband concurs, and my dog sits at attention when I get into one of my fits about how much money we waste on bird seed. But then it happens. A story unfolds.
A sudden, brilliant streak of red soars across my vision toward the highest branch of the oak tree and quickens my heart. The nuthatches scatter and blast my senses with their twittering. A very large, down-at-the-heels squirrel has just bullied his entrance onto the scene. He mashes his homely face into the heaped up grain, his loose-skinned body all aquiver, and hunkers in for a feast.
Inside this forever feeling frame of time, the cardinals watch, the smaller birds watch, and I watch as well. I am humbled by the way it all works, this autumn goodness nature so effortlessly provides. What is the story here? What is it that I really want anyway?
Causes Jane de Roussan Supports
Association for Parkinsons Disease, Wisconsin Chapter
Montreal Children's Hospital, Montreal, QC
NAMI-Wisconsin Chapter, Madison, WI