Late winter creeps in and the birds are hungry. It has been a mild winter, but even so, the truth of it is we are all starved for sunshine, color, new growth. Change.
My crow family has been stopping by more and more frequently, adding members to their group as well as black to the veil of grey that is a February landscape. This is a period of waiting. Scrounging. Surviving. Looking forward to the season of plenty.
I find myself once again surprised at the way we fool ourselves into thinking we are so separate from nature as we rattle around in our lives filled with technology and comfort and convenience.
But when it comes right down to it, we’re not so different, these birds and I, both clinging to precarious perches, eyes trained on the prize of tomorrow. Weathering storms to make it through. Hanging on, toughing it out, not giving up. These chickadees must work hard at staying alive.
And yet, have you ever seen one that didn’t look happy? I haven’t. On the coldest of days I can step outside at almost any time and hear a chickadee break into song, all the while getting on with the business of life. Never stopping, never whining, never giving up. Never expecting anything more.
Simply happy to be alive. To watch the sun rise. To fly.
There’s a lesson for me in there, somewhere.
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