Green to Gold and Gold to Brown

It was Mary Oliver who said in winter "the whole world smells like water in an iron cup." I have never been fond of the extreme seasons. I like a month or so of them, but then I am ready to move on.

Take for instance Winter. The air always seems too thin and it is too quiet with all the birds gone. And also there is Summer.... Everyone loves Summer. I don't. And as far as I know, I am one of the only people who is not a fan of the heated, sweating season. But as much as I hate these extremes, some things have won me over.
In winter, I love the way trees look with no leaves. Their sharp branches crossing against gray and blue. I love winter's dull, eternal blue hour. Everything melts into grayscale.
And in spite of the extra heat and thick air, I love summer nights when the deep breath of the day has been released. I also love walking barefoot over pavement, barely cool from the set sun.

However, lately, I have really been craving color. I'm not sure if all the pink I have been wearing lately has been cutting it. It is this extra need that reminds me it is about time for Spring. In fact, I must have a thing for color, because my two favorite seasons have extreme color in common. Whether it is birth or full bloom before death, Spring and Autumn are full of sweet smelling air, bluer skies, overflowing trees and a huge sigh of relief from the extremes. The hard part is waiting and watching as the sun begins to surface more often and wake up all that are sleeping.

This past fall, Ray LaMontagne released a new album called, Gossip in the Grain. Every one of his albums are separate, distinct and personal. This newest album had a song called "Winter Birds" and it has been a frequent song played on the ipod.

Here is a beautiful moment in the song:

The winter birds have come back again,
Here the sprightly Chickadee
Gone now is the Willow Wren
In passing greet each other as if old, old friends
And to the voiceless trees
It is their own they will lend

The days grow short
As the nights grow long
The kettle sings it's tortured song
As many petalled kiss I place upon her brow,
Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now

And though all these things will change,
The memories will remain
As green to gold, and gold to brown
The leaves will fall to feed the ground
And in their falling, make no sound

Here's to the coming Spring and the hope of emerging out of the gray.

My Views on Love-New addition

It was a year ago that I first posted a blog about love. As life is a process of learning,  I feel like posting a simple quote that has extended my understanding.  I read it this year in a book called, The Four Loves, by C.S. Lewis.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable.  Love anything and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken.  If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal.  Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.  But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless- it will change.  It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.  The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation.  The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell."

This Year I have named the "Year of Charity."  As we all know, love applies to much more than just a significant other.  We love our families and our friends and yes, even our animals.  I have learned what it means to love my co-workers and to love the children I teach.  And, I have completely been hurt, scratched, bruised and broken.  The list of songs about how love hurts is almost as long as the songs about how great love feels.

 But, I think C.S. Lewis is saying God wants us to have love.  He wants us to experience it and he wants us to go through every aspect of it. He wants us to be vulnerable and sick and ancy and joyful and tearful and prayerful.  He loves us and Charity is His pure love.  He wants us to feel it and give it as he has given it.  But, like all gifts, one party must give and another must receive. I have been guilty of not receiving. But living an open life... one that will receive love, will hurt.  I never realized how vulnerable love makes us, yet the bible says,"perfect love casteth out all fear."  

I decided this year would be the year of Charity when in Sunday school, I read in the Book of Mormon 2nd Nephi 26:30, "All men should have charity, which charity is love.  And except they have charity, they are nothing."  What else is Hell than nothing?  To me, hell would be an empty place...void, and soundless, and cold. 

On this Valentine's Day, I wanted to share my limited understanding of something we are blessed to feel, if we are willing to allow ourselves to be vulnerable... and that is love.  

 

 

One for the Birds

Meet Bundles.  This is my bird.   He is just shy of 20 years old and has single-handedly,  outlasted every other pet I took care of as a kid.  This includes a guinea Pig, a frog, a betta, a labrador, and a tank full of random fish.  This blog is dedicated to him since I believe he is at the root of my bird fascination.

   

Since I was young, I've always loved birds. Bundles became mine when I was 7 and a half.  Our family  had taken care of my aunt's bird who could whistle the Andy Griffith theme song and after my tragic attempt to care for a hamster, I believed a Cockatiel would be the perfect pet.  My parents agreed and sadly, they had no idea what they had gotten themselves into.  Bundles is only in love with me.  He is mean to all others and will only "tolerate" my parents, husband and best friend.  He is happiest with me and his longevity has given everyone a run for their money. 

 

But, Bundles was my best friend when life was at its toughest.  Like all good pets, he could sense my fears, disappointments, and joys.  I used to love watching him stretch his long gray wings and dip his face into his water bowl for a drink.  However fun it was watching Bundles wipe extra water from his face, I loved watching him sleep.   When birds are truly sleeping, they are found on one foot, with their head turned back and tucked beneath a wing.  Once, I sat on my bed, drawing and he fell asleep on my knee.  Standing on one foot and fluffed up like a gray dollop of meringue, I watched Bundles breathe slowly and I fell even more in love with birds.

I love their wings and eager, dark eyes.  Everything about their sleek feathered bodies and dinosaur feet fascinates me. As a teenager, I had a picture of a Barn Owl on my wall and I would pester my Dad to tell me about his pet owl Oliver he cared for as a boy.  I loved the Tracy Aviary and soon fell in love with the Bird Refuge. 

Bird songs have been so comforting to me while also making me homesick for New Zealand.  In Hamilton, I remember waking up to the billions of birds singing outside my window and feeling the heaviness of winter lift from my shoulders.  Heck, one of my favorite singers is Andrew Bird and he must have a like fascination.  He whistles in his music, accompanying himself with a tender violin, and often his melodies remind me of bird songs.  (Ethiobirds is his best work)

But, down deep somewhere, I'm really jealous of any animal that is capable of flying.  Light as hollow glass, birds can slide through air and land in the tops of narrow branches we "earth-bound" would shudder to step foot on.  It must be such a feeling to soar so high and so far.  Maybe that is why I always loved singing.  It was the closest I could ever come to flying.  

 

I have fallen in love recently.  John and I have begun to collect a little gathering of fish at our house and have become frequent Petco shoppers.  About a month ago, while getting fish food, I met a little bird named Sherburt.  He is a White Bellied Caique with a ridiculous price tag (thanks to Petco).  I've visited with him often lately.  He rolls on his back, sticks his feathered talons in the air and acts like a true ham.  

With the "No Pet" rules established at our apartment, I really miss Bundles these days. But he is safely nestled in with my parents instead of being in the corner of my room, squawking at me to let him curl up on my pillow.  I still remember in New Zealand, when I missed Bundles, I would go down to the local park where there was a huge cage, 8 feet high, and full of Cockatiels.  It still seems impossible to write about, but I feel like that crazy, moody, little bird was a little gift from God to me.