Hello. It’s a new February.
We’re expecting another 10-18 inches of snow here tomorrow! It’s still exciting and beautiful to me. Tell me I’m not the only one who loves seeing snow — at least until March arrives. Then I’ll be ready to see forsythia.
I like watching my backyard bird community. The chickadees always seem to be cheerful, and they feed alongside all the others — except blue jays. No one messes with the jays. Cardinals don’t mind sharing ground space, but they maintain their dignity and mind their own business.
There are a lot of sparrows. They are the great backyard un-silent majority. Simple, plain, and cheerful, they are the middle-class suburban, working-dude bird flitting from branch to feeder and feeder to branch, maintaining an incredible and fascinating energy all day, every day. It’s a more than 40 hour week for them, but every now and then they take a break from their hard work, and they gather on a shrub to sing to and with each other, pleased just to be in their place. Happy to be together. They do not seem to worry or whine. They have what they need and leave when it’s gone. There is no wanting more, no sacrificing the song in the name of getting ahead. I watch the sparrows and ask myself if there really is anything better than that .
The coming storm reminds me of a beautiful (though snow-less) winter picture I describe in “Mundane Beauty.” The pear tree is long gone, but, thankfully, there are still plenty of sparrows perching on other trees and bushes around the yard.
Thanks for visiting. See you next time…
Eleven brown-splotched sparrows came,
and settled one by one,
on branches of the pear tree
now barren in the cold.
They ceased their flighty chatter
and perched in simple still life —
bits of french-knot fancy
scattered in the crewel,
stark embroidery of winter.