Wednesday, February 20, 2019

We're All Waiting


"Even on the road to hell, flowers can make you smile."
Deng Ming-Dao

While writing my morning pages today, I was distracted by a resounding chorus of chirping birds. In my backyard I found hundreds of red-breasted robins. We don't have robins in Austin, Texas. Growing up in Austin, Minnesota, they were the only birds I ever saw.

But right in my backyard, hundreds flitted from tree to tree, their voices drowning out the passing cars. Their activity prematurely dislodging the live oak leaves still priming the branches for their replacement's arrival next month. Like a rain of leaves.

I got out my camera and went out in my pajamas, barefoot. The patio was cold. I wanted to be quick, but my camera wouldn't work. The battery was dead. Apropos to the season. Dead, like everything else this time of year. February. The dog days of winter.

I plugged in my battery and paced the floor. Perhaps like the birds fluttering from branch to branch, impatient for the weather to warm; their migration back up north to continue. The season to change.

My morning pages of late have documented the gloomy weather.

Gray day.
Rain day.
Windy, cold day.
Cold.
Gray.
A slight streak of sunlight. Hope?
Absent sun.
Brown -- the world is brown. Will the world always be brown now? No hope?

My daily mediation book this year is 365 Tao by Den Min-Dao. Each morning I read a page. This day had the quote from above. Appropriately placed for February, I'd say. Would seem I'm not the only one tired of the dormancy of winter.

It could be worse. I could still live up North where I'd also mention the gray skies. Most days I'd say white instead of brown. New snow. Old snow. The old snow always worse because it would have the dirty splashes of vehicle spill turning the snow banks a dull gray or black. Sticks and errant debris crusted into the once pristine white, now its own ugly.

But even in the South, patience is required. All kinds of patience that is often hard to muster. Especially on days when something new arrives right outside my window.


My pacing prompted me to grab my cell phone and I did get this photo. A little cropping blew it up, but it disappointed me. I wanted to get that clearer, better shot, with my zoom lens. My feet chilled on the cement, I listened to the collective chirping and watched the birds flutter from branch to branch, as if they were as anxious as me waiting for that better shot. At flight. The robins, waiting to stretch their wings and fly for miles, rather than from yard to yard on a slowed trek of waiting for warmth.

My daily Tao today also says "We should take time to appreciate beauty in the midst of temporality." Only after posting this photo here, do I notice the blue sky behind. The beautiful orange breast. The Live Oak tree behind that doesn't drop its leaves until another is present. That if the crepe myrtle were not dormant  and free of green, I would not see this beautiful bird of my youth.

My camera battery is now charged, but the robins have left. I can hear them far off, a block or so away. Patiently working their way north.

The sun is out today. The weather report says we won't see it tomorrow. This is my "temporality moment." Perhaps a visit to a greenhouse is in order. The flowers to come certain to make me smile.


24 comments:

  1. We always have robins in our yard in Austin when the live oaks start shedding and budding!

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    1. I've seen a few before. They eat the berries on my Nandina. But never this magnitude. On every branch.

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  2. Those of us addicted to photography have two and in my case three batteries always charged. I missed a close up hawk on my deck because I had left my camera upstairs with my computer. Oh well, I do see so much more lovely things through the lens.

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    1. As I took out my battery, I was certain I had another one. Hmmm. Will schedule a hunt for later today.

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  3. Once here in Dallas I heard loud chirping, like you said it drowned out all other noise. It was hundreds of robins, so many, truly an amazing phenomenon. They did leave evidence of their visit...everywhere. :)

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  4. Ha! Probably a good thing I wasn't out there in the lawn, able to get my closeups.

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  5. Somehow after reading about you and your birds I'm feeling hopeful. Cold bare feet, loud chirping, blue sky - you've provided me with a temporality moment. Thanks. Here's a hug from your better half.

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    1. Thanks for the hug. Temporality is the word of the day.

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  6. I'm not feeling as poetic as you, and I'd much rather see bluebonnets than robins, as you have both and we have robins year round. Yes, the business about the first robin up here is a sham; an entire clan of them don't go home!
    One spring I was painting my daughter's bedroom. It was evening, and raining gently. I leaned on the windowsill for a break, and watched a robin gorging on earthworms who came out to avoid drowning. When it could eat no more, the robin took a fat and juicy worm in its beak and flew up to a phone wire. It perched, wondering what to do with the catch. Suddenly it dropped the worm and watched it fall. Then back to the lawn for a new worm, up to the wire, watch it fall. When I got over laughing out loud I went back to painting. I suppose the robin eventually gave up the worm job.

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    1. lol. Perhaps it's name was Newton . . . experimenting with gravity . . . lol

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  7. They took a detour, I used to go to Yuma AZ and watch them come in. after going through a desert with fermented fruits they were comical

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    1. They have been singing. We also heard some way across the lake the other night. I didn't know who/what they were until I saw that at home today.

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  8. Loved the account of the robins, Julie, what a shame the batteries were flat. Your robins are much bigger than ours in the UK. Bigger and Better . . lol
    I wonder, Julie if you would be interested in joining our weekly poetry group run by Carrie Van Horn. Details on my blog . . . :)

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    1. I'll check it out, Eddie. I read poetry. Not certain I've ever shown anyone a poem I've written, though.

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  9. Your robin over there is so very different from our robin here, who is half the size and a totally different bird both in shape, colour and behaviour.

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    1. That photo might be deceiving. They are about 8 inches tall. Not certain if your's are smaller. Would love to come see.

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  10. I have read this post over and over again since last night, it's so beautiful. It came into my mind this morning at 5.30am when I heard the birds start singing in the darkness outside. Thank you so much for these words. The skies have been grey here too, until this last week, when we have had dazzling sunshine. It seems that winter may have passed us by this year. x

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    1. You make me blush, Mrs. Tiggywinkle. Our weather has only teased us of late. A little sunshine and then more grey, drizzly days. Warm today and I read where a freeze coming next week. Will have to see what comes next. Cheers to an early spring for you.

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  11. Nice shot! Bird photos are so hard to get, especially at this time of year. Most of our birds are still south. Thanks for sharing yours!

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    1. it's pretty quiet out in my yard now. They must be headed your way. Good sign for the snow crowd. I wish you warmth.

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  12. I’m finally back online after about a month. The war between Yahoo and Google ended. Almighty Google finally let me into my own two blogs. A miracle, as it were.
    Ray (Troutbirder) Still living 25 miles east of Austin home of the Pakers :)

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  13. So glad to hear that. Yes, I'm glad the Google + issue is settled as well Made it very difficult to reply to blogs. You know where I'm from well. Stay warm.

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