The temperatures here this week have been in the teens and single digits, keeping me mainly inside. My only certain excursions are my trip to retrieve the mail from the box at the far end of my driveway—an adventure in itself—and a few trips to the big, flat rocks atop the retaining wall where I put the sunflower seeds for the birds.
The birds have become a source of fascination. Not only do they entertain me and teach me, but they touch me with their seeming vulnerability. It amazes me that they can endure such cold, and survive when every source of water is frozen and their main sources of food are buried beneath what, to them, must seem to be mountains of snow.
They kindle my sense of wonder and awe at the way the world works, at how things are woven together in complex and beautiful ways meant to benefit every living creature. Even us. Even when we have a hard time seeing how everything we encounter sustains and grows us. Even when life seems anything but beautiful.
I don’t think the birds digging in the snow for hidden seeds think how amazing it is that their feet don’t freeze, or that mere feathers are enough to keep their little bodies warm. They take such things for granted. We take for granted the things that keep us going, too. Our hearts beat, our lungs breathe, our wounds heal without our giving them a thought or thinking that we ought to be in charge. We laugh and love without asking how it can be that we do such things. And yet, aren’t they miraculous?
In some ways, I’ve noticed, the birds seem smarter than us. I don’t think they grumble about the cold, or about the work involved in digging with tiny feet through deep snow to find a little morsel of food. They don’t waste time in worry or complaining or fear. They just go about their business and get things done. They spread the word to others when they discover a decent eatery and share their table with birds of every shape and color and size. They don’t pick fights. They learn who the bullies are and simply keep their distance. And most of the time, they just seem so downright happy to be birds being birds. It’s kind of wonderful really.
If the weather hadn’t driven me to spend my days inside, peering out my window for signs of life, I would have missed all these little lessons and observations. It’s just one more example of the way that life weaves things together in such beneficial ways. As my neighbor often says as he points his finger skyward, “It kind of makes you think Someone’s watching out for us, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I tell him, smiling. “It certainly does.”
Wishing you a week of beautiful moments.
Warmly,
Susan