And good morning to you, too, bird

nuthatchA little nuthatch came to see me this morning, as I sat at my desk. My study overlooks the bird feeder, which I just filled up yesterday. The birds have been in a feeding frenzy ever since,with the squirrels gathering below to pick up sunflower seeds and other feed dropping from the birds’ excitement.

The birds often come to see me, flying up to my window and landing on the sill or one of the cross-pieces to look in and cheep at me. When they’re hungry, and I haven’t filled the feeder, they come to remind me to give them seed. When I have fed them, they come by to just say “hi”.

This morning was a “hi” time. A sudden flash of feathers and a light thunk as the bird landed at the window. In a split-second, they’re gone… but not before I see them and say “good morning”.

It’s nice to get a second chance from these little creatures. They have not been around for several months, thanks to my laxness with feeding them. They gave up on the idea of feeding here, and they didn’t bother to come and catch my attention. All the chickadees, juncos, nuthatches, cardinals, jays, and sparrows all flew away to better stocked locations. I think they were just disgusted with me, quite frankly.

Lost cause.

But then I filled the feeder again, and now I’m back in their good graces.This is the kind of memory-less absolution of transgressions that gives me hope. The birds don’t hold a grudge. They don’t nurse their hurts. They don’t store resentments for later and then come back to make me pay for what I’ve done. They may give up on me, now and then, but they come back when I get my act together. And we can start over again, with them stopping by my window, now and then, to say “good morning”.


No troubled history.

Just the infinite now.

While grocery shopping tonight, I’ll have to pick up more seed. And get some suet. Winter is coming, and the birds know it. I’d like to keep as many of us alive, as possible.

Including our friendship.

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