Birdsongs

Sitting still, with the windows open and my eyes closed, bird calls, squawks, tweets and whistles remind me of so many places and experiences past. The faces of family and friends I shared those experiences with are there too, clearly seen with my eyes closed. 

As with certain songs that come on the radio, I am immediately reminiscent hearing the bird songs. In just these few seconds I hear the same bird chatter I remember hearing as a child camping in the tent camper with my brothers and parents, when nothing more than a thin layer of dew damp canvas warming in the sun, scenting the air, was between their song and my ears. 

My grandparents camped with us sometimes. I can see Grandpa smiling, a little, it's really more of a pleasant relaxed expression than a smile. I think to myself in this moment that the memory is incomplete without the call of the whippoorwill, and then I hear him. He is not one of the more frequent morning birds I hear, but with my eyes closed, listening, there he is, and again. Whip Whipp-oor-will.

I think about the pheasant that flew into the glass of my brother's bedroom window, and the flock of honking geese that dropped by my house for a rest from their flight south, like a travel break at an exit off the highway where there is a Cracker Barrel.

I think about "the big guy", a red tailed hawk, perched on the stop sign at the corner in front of my house. My youngest son, four at the time, charged in the front door from play to announce that the big guy was out there. I was a little afraid of what he meant by that statement and a lot relieved to figure it out! I guess to a four year old that hawk up close was quite a "big guy"!  That same four year old once conversed with a blackbird in the back yard on another open windows day. Standing at the table making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, he told that bird in no uncertain terms that it was his sandwich, and no, the bird could not have any, it would have to get its own. 

I remember how odd I thought it was as a new Floridian to hear the beautiful songs of night birds instead of crickets. These little birds in the palm trees outside my open window, were just getting started with their everyday routines when I laid down each night to finish mine. I think of an owl in the small patch of woods where my daughter works. She spotted him in the tree watching us as we watched him. He hooted for us. I'm reminded of the two yellow canaries I had years ago, and of the day I was delighted to discover buntings, green, painted, and even their elusive cousins the indigo's, living happily near the nature center just ten minutes from my house. I have been back several times to sit and watch and enjoy them.

I think of sparrows, and Jesus' sort of dime a dozen reference to them in the bible. The sparrows are many, they are not very distinctive or unique or rare to see or hear, they are plain and easily dismissed or overlooked. But Jesus uses those little birds as an example to clarify His point, not one falls to the ground apart from the will of God the father, not one that He does not notice, has not cared for, and does not value even though they seem in the whole of creation rather insignificant. How much more He values us, his crowning creation, made in His own image. Nothing about us is unnoticed or not deeply cared about by Him, every detail of our life is in His loving Fatherly hands. We may not be held in high esteem in the eyes of other people, but to Him, we are precious in his sight,

I love how this uninterrupted moment , with eyes closed to visual distraction, listening to birds reminded me of goodness. Past goodness, present goodness, and because of these, expectant hope for future goodness. Come what may, no one can take away the goodness that is already impressed in my mind and heart. 

I love what I am able to see with my eyes closed.