Refilling The Feeders
"A bird does not sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song." Maya Angelou
(art by Cecil Bell)
I brave the cold which nips and bites at my skin, even through my coat and clothes, to refill the feeders. It is a small act of grace that removes me from myself and focusing on tending to the birds who bring such beauty to my daily life. Even as I fill the feeders, I hear the sounds of a Carolina Wren. Then the Downy Woodpecker. A thrush waits patiently for me to finish. It hides in the dying vines of the wild grapes.
In the branches of an old oak, I spot a Robin.
As I am refilling the feeders, a neighborhood cat meows to me. I speak gently to him. He approaches but only so far. If I move, he hurries away. He is small gray cat with white paws, except one has a small black spot as if he had spilled ink on it.
I am, as Ralph Waldo Emerson suggested, adopting the pace of nature.
In this age where AI and social media are decreasing attention, I am in quiet revolt.
I am spending less time online. Instead, I have been reading books, listening to music, watching films, enjoying the natural world and being present. It is time spent, not consuming, not viewing all of this for my consumption, not transactional, but allowing these things to be transformational. Removing the distraction that my smart phone has become. I do not need incessant information at my fingertips. I need the wisdom of being present to the paradoxes of each moment, the light and dark, the joy and sorrow, each has and asking, “What does this have to teach me?”
Instead of consuming, I am connecting.
