An elusive sense that something was different caused me to take notice.
In fact, it was just after the James Taylor bridge where we had turned toward the city, that a distant place inside me seemed to wake up. My mind whispered long forgotten memories of a place I had once called home.
“You’ll have problems no matter where you go,” my former landlord remarked, after I told him I was moving.
We were standing by the entrance to my front deck, beside the septic tank, where sewage was overflowing on the ground. I held my tongue. That particular problem wouldn’t be moving with me, I thought to myself.
We don’t have septic tanks in my new place.
We do however have a history of flooding, so in a way, I guess the landlord was right.
Still, you gotta choose your battles in life, and I guess, the problems you’re willing to endure.
The street lights wake me up at strange hours of the morning. I’ve been too busy to stop, unpack or put curtains on my windows.
Pieces of me are in boxes, bills and various important documents spread across my floor.
I’ve yearned for the dark nights and shadows of trees. They were my trees. I especially miss the birds that lived among them.
I felt I abandoned the birds, and in a way I did. To tell why would take a lot of writing and it might be as hard to write, as it was to live.
There’s a big, puffed up and confident Mockingbird living in my new yard. This bird rules the bird station.
The eager territorial bird has communicated its high status to all the feathered ones (except for the hawk). They believe this Mockingbird too. Even the large loud Bluejay gives the pretty white and grey bird the space it demands.
I wonder what this means. I wonder if the Mockingbird has something to say to me and if so, then what could it be?
One day, I’ll look back, I hope, and recall the beauty bestowed so freely in those woods where I lived. I know I’ll remember the trees and beautiful moss that bloomed in springtime. I’ll especially recall that the land and the wild ones that lived there was the place where Mother Nature penetrated my spirit.
I’ll recall too the nights when after a day of chasing butterflies, and later watching birds, the color of nature flooded my mind.
I have a new friend. He’s an elder with great tales of sailing across the waters of Maine. He reads me poetry and knows all the great literature! We sit in his kitchen drinking instant, but good coffee. On occasion, he calls to recite Shakespeare.
Below, is the first poem he shared during our first visit together.
“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.”
Ruthie Mae likes our new home. She has a furry neighbor friend named Happy.
Amazingly, there are as many birds here as in my wooded yard.
I haven’t seen the beloved Mourning Dove, but we have a pond that’s home to a Great Blue Heron. I dreamed of this bird two nights before I moved here. I had seen it swoop down close to me, then powerfully and gracefully, back up again it flew.
Upon waking, I heard the spirit of the bird say it would carry me to my new home.
Astonishingly, I worked without pain during the rest of my move, even while sleeping on a hard bamboo floor.
A Red-shouldered hawk lives here too. Every tenant I’ve met mentions the hawk. It perches not too far from my door on low branches of trees by the creek.
I live by water, with birds. I like that. The mail carrier wears a postal suit (including the hat), like olden times. I like that too.
The locals hold the vibe of this city’s heart. That’s what felt different after we crossed the bridge on moving day. I remembered the heartbeat of the people here, and I felt it run through me.
I am glad to be home, again.
Thanks for visiting my blog, dogkisses, and please feel free to leave me your comments.