When the world presses in, there are few things that ground me in the wonder of being at home on the Earth as hearing the wings of a bird as it tilts and sweeps through snow-laden branches on its way to find food.... fwt..fwt.....fwt..fwt..fwt...
All else so softly silent but this passage. They're out there everyday, seen or unseen, living their perfect, miraculous lives, each detail of which is its own pattern of beauty and delight. Where do they go when they die, do you know? Has anyone found their small cold bodies on the forest floor or lying among the stems of the grass? Do they become the warm breath of the deer on frosty winter mornings? Do they fly into the gold light of the sun, forever?
What I know is they live with scant defense between themselves and the great facts of life; even freezing or starving they make no complaint. They don't organize to build weapons or make policies to oppose us even as we continue to shrink and poison their necessary world in our fearful ignorance, pride and vanity. They simply continue to live as best they can, utterly being themselves without pretense or guile.
Today, as everyday, I am so in love with the birds of this world....