From my bedroom, I admire a tree down the street, majestic and grand he watches guard over the residents, wearing a newly polished uniform of vibrant green. Ever so constant as we come and go, hour after hour, always watching. The cars pulling boats, the walkers with dogs, the running blurs that whiz past. I want to tell him all my secrets, but I think he knows.
In the backyard, like an ornery grandpa with a sparkle in his eye rests another giant, his strong branches are tired, but still fighting. I’m sure he has the greatest stories.
From my kitchen window, I see two clusters, younger and smaller, but absolutely charming, donned in the brightest greens of spring. The squirrels try to steal the fruits and nuts from the bird feeder. In one month, I’ve become the old lady who tries to shoo away the pesky things, but secretly I admire how their approaches get more creative each day. There’s Claude, short for Claudius, a vibrant red cardinal. He’s extremely stylish, an impressionist artist and devout Catholic. He has a lady friend who comes around, but she’s playing hard to get and so his song is a bit melodramatic. Jude, the large red-winged black bird comes by often, with a bold and passionate song. He perches on the thickest branch and tells his tales to all, demanding to be heard, he’s a poet and nobody understands him. The distinct red and yellow stripes on his wing are on fire in contrast to his deep darkness. He’s proud, so his favorite song is by the Beatles. Blackbird singing the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. A pair of American Goldfinches, yellow, wild-eyed, and busy rush in for a quick bite, once they stayed long enough to introduce themselves as Goldie. How original I thought. But most often, dashing little fellows in black tie attire, bend and bow and eat. Black capped chickadees or chickees, as dubbed by the three year old of the home. There is another pair wearing red and brown, but I haven’t met them and I don’t know what they are.
The robins are snobs and never stop by. They prefer the ground and rain and freshly cut grass.
From my new windows, I am a captive audience of this show. Day after day I never tired of the peace it brings or how it sends my imagination into a fantastic frenzy.
Before we moved, from inside the apartment walls, I dreamed of six feet of green grass for my family to play and live and breathe. And the other day, in the middle of the afternoon, on a blanket of plaid with journal and pen, I’m pretty sure I heard a voice from heaven, Hey, look how huge your yard is, pretty cool, huh?
With a steaming mug of black, strong coffee in my hand, at the windows or from a blanket, I drink and whisper,
thank you for this huge gift.
Just Write.
