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On the morning of the first day of March, greedy jays are at the feeder,
first to find the crumbs from the master’s table.
Persistent little beggars, these blue crested squawkers. Alarm bells of the forest, cocky in their chinstraps,
flashing into everyone’s business. Subtlety is not their colour.
They are almost too gaudy for my liking.
As if reading my thoughts, one starts to scold me through the window.
I can’t help it, I shrug back. I didn’t grow up with blue jays in my neck of the northern woods.
They were more like a cartoon character in my mind.
When I go downstairs, the kitchen is hopping with my own little birds, eager for their breakfast.
Brew the coffee, slice the bread, pour the milk, wipe the sticky fingers. Squawk!
On the fridge door hangs a calendar, one of those freebies the insurance company sends in the mail,
with reminders to clean the chimney and change the smoke alarm batteries.
I’ve always loved the swoosh of flipping up the new month’s page.
And what symbol of our fair isle should greet me this particular March?
Three guesses, and the first two don’t count.
There he sits, perched on an ice covered branch, shiny eye turned into the kitchen,
daring me to ignore him.
Persistent little beggars.
I’ve learned to pay attention to the things that reappear in my field of vision. So I stare back.
And I’m reminded of others who were praised for their persistence, and even audacity.
A Canaanite woman, out of her league, begging for a daughter in the grip of darkness.
A man whose cupboards are bare, banging down his neighbour’s door at midnight.
A chronically ill woman, mustering just enough faith to reach for Jesus’ dusty hem.
They get what they need because of their persistence. Bold in their hunger.
Like blue on white, they show up and won’t shut up till they get what they’ve come for.
Sometimes life is a matter of timing.
There’s a time to hibernate, and a time to make your presence known.
A time to wait, and a time to reach. A time to ask, seek, knock, defiant of winter’s scarcity.
I sit down with my toast at the dining room table, looking out to where the feeder hangs.
All is grey and brown, save for dashes of jaunty blue. I’ll keep my eye on them.
Maybe I’ll learn to love these flashy creatures after all.
I took myself to the woods today.
My head was pounding, the walls of my brain squeezing in, trapping all that pressure behind my eyes.
I needed to breathe.
It was a sharp winter day, so I put on wooly socks, snowpants, parka, boots, hat and mitts.
I forced myself out the door, over the crusted snow of the backyard, down the icy stone steps to the track of the old road.
With a brilliant blue overhead, and a smooth white canvas before me, I began to break a trail.
Past the abandoned house, the chicken shed, the low hanging limbs of the ancient apple trees,
looking for the secret path to the big pines at the edge of our property.
I wrestled with branches felled in the winter storms, breaking my way through the brittle debris,
till I came to the open air beneath the evergreens.
There is a spacious silence at the feet of these wizened sentinels.
I found the low hanging crook of some deciduous tree, snuggled next to one of the pines, and climbed up,
bracing myself between the two trees. I could hear my breath in the hood of my parka, heavy and ragged.
I lay on my back and looked to the sky.
The branch underneath became my spine, and my heartbeat settled.
Slowly, my lungs found a rhythm. Without the pounding in my ears, I began to hear the soundtrack of the forest.
A squirrel scolding a few trees over. A crow across the river, downstream. A lone chickadee’s chirp far to the east.
The tide-like motion of the great swaying branches. The crackling and popping of the river ice.
And like a pulse beneath it all, the breath of the river.
Rooted, yet suspended, the weight I had been carrying melted away. Something bigger is holding me.
Half a dozen pine trees, a handful of birches, and a mess of willows. Not much of a woods, all things considered.
Not much of the wild. But enough. Enough to recalibrate my brain, enough to infuse my body with an “other” energy.
Perhaps one tree is all I need to uproot my perspective. A single determination to get out of my own head and find new oxygen.
There is something bigger, thank God. The wild is closer than I think.
The sap is flowing! The geese are returning! The world is shifting and a great change is about to come.
Now the dead will be shown for what they are. In the winter, all the branches look the same. But spring reveals the hidden reality.
All those who abide in the vine have sap in their veins.
They will swell with buds and stretch to the sun.
They will not break when the tempest comes, nor wither in the heat.
They will bleed sweet water should the pruning knife wound.
The life is in the blood, and they are rooted and established in the heart of the universe.
They will not fear the change.
They will clap their hands and wave their palms when the monarch of spring arrives, and their green laurels will be his crown.
Their fruit will be his triumph, and when the grapes are trod they will cast their boughs before him as the wine is poured out for all the earth to drink.
My heart is hitting for a feeling that I am not from the ones who don't change their children with the world
and what are in and above but take the world of other children for worldly things.
Praise be to you my greatest Creator.
This world is temporary, love everybody who doesn't suffer
and be from the ones who improve humanity in the exam of living.
I feel very well I am not from the ones who destroy humanity.
It`s been three years since the devastating accident ....
three years since Mia walked out of Adam`s life forever.
Now living on opposite coasts , Mia is Juilliard`s girlfriend
When Adam gets stuck in New York by himself ,
chance brings the together again , for one
Last night . As they explore the city that has become Mia`s home ,
Adam and Mia revisit the past and open their hearts to the future - and each other.
Told from Adam`s point of view in the spare, lyrical prose that defined if i stay ,
Where she Went explores the devastation of grief
The promise of new hope , and the flame of rekindled romance
Little One, can a moment live forever? Is there a space, beyond time, where this moment will always be?
You, in your winter sleeper with the pastel fawns, reaching for me, not quite asleep,
squeaking sounds of contentment as you nurse.
Your fingers wave until they find mine, and then the connection is complete.
Your breathing slows. Your eyelashes flutter.
We are in the room with the blue floral wallpaper and painted blue floor.
On the bed, a colourful crocheted blanket that you love to push your fingers into.
Outside, a bluster of snow changing to freezing rain.
I see the drops on the glass through the lace curtains.
Now you sleep. Your own crib is waiting for you, with the pale green gingham sheet,
and the muslin blanket with the black sheep. But I am not ready for it.
I am still imprinting this moment in the folds of my memory, hoping it will not be lost.
I want to come back and live in it again, to feel your warmth and weight just as they are now.
To simply be me here with you.
Perhaps time is a robe that God wears, and perhaps it has folds enough to hide our treasures.
Perhaps on the Day that is a thousand years,
he will wrap us in it and we will know again this sweetness.
Perhaps all our love lives forever with Him,
each of our moments embroidering some new blossom on the hem of His garment.
Perhaps one day we will be surrounded by blue flowers in a room with a gold painted floor,
and all the love of this moment will connect us again.
These moments pass so quickly for we time-bound creatures.
But there is something unseen that is weaving us together,
and when you let go of my hand and settle into bed, that unseen remains eternal.
Here`s some advise for the next one
Don`t let him lead you to the dark
Don`t tell him all your secrets
he`ll leave you with a broken heart
he`ll try and tell you that he wants you
just to keep you on the line
and right when you`re about to move on
he pulls you back every time
Darling ,İ know that you`re just like me
you give your love up way too fast
But what is gone
it`s gone forever
And there`r no coming back from that
He`s got this perfect way abut him
He`ll make you think that you come first
But you`ll get lost in the challenge
you`re trying not get hurt