A Love Letter to Life
There's been an enormous mound of snow between my bird feeders and me that has prevented my lazy ass self from trudging through and replenishing supplies. Except for the times that Paul has thoughtfully snow-blown a path for me (sorry, ladies, he's taken!).
I freakin' love my birds. I pretend that they live here, on my property, in my trees, and that they don't forage anywhere else except, of course, when I neglect them and they are forced to go elsewhere, but for which they forgive me every time.
It fascinates me that the feeders can go weeks with nary a seed yet as soon as I fill them, the birds are there. I can hear them chittering and cawing at one another, signalling the plenty that's to come. Wait 5 minutes and here come the chickadees, and crows, and cardinals. Which in turn brings the squirrels, grateful for the rejects the birds drop to the ground.
I also have a skunk who lives under my counselling office. All winter long the acrid smell of skunk has accompanied me and and my clients. I have a lavender oil diffuser going on inside to mitigate the odeur. And yet, I do not hold it against the skunk. That would be like faulting the moon for being too bright. Or the stars for twinkling too damn much.
I am happy (relieved, grateful) to report that the blanket of darkness I have been under is beginning to lift and I have so many lovely, thoughtful, and kindhearted people to thank for that. I laid bare my misery and was rewarded with the generosity that commiseration brings.
And, honestly, isn't that the whole point of life, right there? Human connection. Empathetic souls. In the best of our humanity lies Grace. I'd forgotten that for a while. I needed to be reminded that in darkness, there is light. In hate, there is love. In loss, there is new discovery and replenishment.
You stuck with me through my challenging times. You read my blogs, you responded with kindness and love. I have learned something vital because of it. If ever I can return the favour, you need only ask. I got you.