The greatest percentage of my weekend was spent listening to and watching birds. I stayed busy with some minor chores but interspersed them with dalliances with my chaise lounge and some warm sun. Oh how good that sun felt. There's never a chuckle too far behind when I hear myself complain about the cold weather. Really... it's southern California, this ain't cold. But it is cold enough to make the sun's warmth sublime. The birds also seemed to think so.
So busy hopping from tree to tree, diving, swooping, singing. I wondered if their thoughts were all "worms, worms, worms," or did they have daily checklists not unlike ours. Of course they never have to get new brakes installed, but then I don't fly around looking for string to build a nest either. We all have our lives to live. Some birds build hard twiggy nests which are prone to egg-rolling. The morning doves in Tucson were famous for this impractical practice. The horror of seeing those dead babies smashed on the ground all around my beautiful house, never got any easier. Then there's the intricacy of a hummingbird's nest. So soft and carefully woven into a form that offered its offspring security.
There is much to watch in this world, and with these new eyes of mine it's as if I've never seen some of these things before. A new ability to see beauty in a soul that formerly appeared nothing other than dark and rancid, gives me a new appreciation and a new hobby. Realizing that there is good beyond the bad has planted a yearning in me to know more than ever before about people and their emotions.
Rock Crest is a home that was owned by two fabulous people whom I had never met. My friend, Pat, cared for the elderly widow for years prior to his passing, prompting him to leave her his real estate. Pat shared hours worth of stories with us, of the greatness of these two lively, conscientious and loving people. There were many instances in her expressions where I tingled, feeling the wonder of Ben and Florence all around me, as well as their grief from losing their 9 year old daughter. The house was electrified with honorable spirits.
Florence was a sensible woman who had plenty to eat and wear, and an uninhibited spirit which allowed her to dance in grass skirts for servicemen. Although she wanted for nothing she was a careful person who saved envelopes from bills, to re-use later, and every day wrapped the string from her delivered newspaper into a bigger and bigger ball. Pat jumped up from her chair, ran to a corner cupboard and pulled out Florence's ball of string. I found myself wishing that Florence was in the room with me right then and there, so that I could ask her why she did this. But I didn't need to, I already knew the answer.
You know, every day we engage in a hustle and bustle as we make our way through this world. Some of us stop at nothing to make a "better life" for ourselves and/or those we love. Some of us thrive to make the world a better place. Some take the time to carefully build a future and some just forge ahead without ever thinking about where they're going or who they're side-swiping in their mad dash. Ben and Florence were two people who loved each other deeply, made a simple and beautiful life together, and who cared about the effects they had on our world.
When Pat inherited Rock Crest it was a bit run down so she put a bit of money and a lot of time and sweat into making it a showplace. It was not difficult to picture her on a ladder, scrubbing the wooden walls back to their original beauty, or digging into the steep hill behind the house with a shovel, to make a trail for her guests. That is Pat... a careful nest builder. What she built was a soft and secure home woven from bits of strings lovingly harvested over time, much like the hummingbird's. What I was most entertained by was not the success of Pat's hard work, but the awe that she had for Florence's great big ball of string. To Pat, Rock Crest would always be Ben and Florence's house. I think she was so honored to be the one to honor their love.
The beautiful wooden beams that adorned and supported the ceiling of Rock Crest were carved from the trees on the hillside behind the house, as were the wood panels that Pat so lovingly restored. It is this spirit of recycling and honoring that not only shows respect for our earth and each other, but that remembers all that have gone before and all that is good and right with this world.
There are so many kinds of nests that can be built. There are so many different kinds of people and heart sets that make up this force called life that we live. Yesterday I watched as a hawk flew away with something flagging from its beak and thought that behind us as we live and love, are our trails of string. I see my own children's children and the great-grandchildren of those I never thought to love and think that we need to worry about what trails we leave behind. Sure, it's not our problem right now, but my love is moving forward and I want my children's children to help build a better ball of string.
So my brother, you choose to build a ball of hate and prefer to incite fear in others. Sister of mine- you seem to wallow in despair and mistrust. Hey friend- I'm like a naked, featherless bird, crying out for you to bring me a worm. And in this world where our love moves forward, I can't help but wonder- why in the world wouldn't you?
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