Photos by Keith R. Good, who attracts and cares for our birds
IF YOU FEED THEM, THEY WILL COME
Aging comes with what seems almost an expectation: Bird beguilement. But my own love of birds began in junior high on Audubon Lane, where pheasants favored our backyard. And though those days have long passed, I can still enjoy the crimson male cardinal singing to his autumn-color lifelong partner. Our bluejays, if not for being common, would be coveted. I’m captivated by the bold ladderback and bright red splash on the red belly woodpecker. The soft sorrowing song of mourning doves does not sadden me in the least. It makes me smile. I giggle at the quirky little honk of the nuthatch as he darts up and down our trees. I find the cheerful little black-capped chickadee entirely enchanting. Goldfinches, bright as lemons, titter as they sail the air as though on waves. When we hear the intricate trill of tiny wrens, we know spring has entered. Orange orioles take our breath away with their arrival. And, of course, the minute emerald body and ruby throat of the hummer is electrifying. These and countless more captivate and delight us. They make our home, home.
Doing what we can to attract the vocalists that color our yard.
She, with little to her name, fumbles a moment in her purse, rolls down her window, and hands money to the man with the sign she can’t read. He thanks her, and says, “God bless you.” All she understands is his smile, which she returns with a nod of her head. She rolls up her window. I place my hand on her shoulder. She smiles at me, and I at her.
And how could I have immediately known her, if not for the light.
this not a trickle but a wide-open firehose that is not meant to douse flames but to disorient the American people leaving us reeling feeling discounted disregarded overlooked overwhelmed overpowered and overthrown (overthrown?) unquestionably and categorically overthrown and now so unrecognizable my country looks far more distorted than even what I see through my wrinkled retina and make no mistake this firehose is intentional gish gallop in its inundation and devastation and
How can one stall a strategic tsunami with a spoon and a sponge?
Some of the most physically gorgeous sincere generous intelligent strongest kindest women I know — women I have the privilege of loving and being loved by —
scream.
Not with their voices
but with their color covering accent mother tongue.
They scream, Foreigner! Criminal! Unsafe! Unwelcome!
The beautiful truths in their hearts are misperceived. They are viewed as ugly lies in the eyes of the listeners who hear only what they are told to hear.
If only you knew them. If only you were willing to spend time communicating communing sharing food exchanging smiles searching their eyes tracing their hearts experiencing their generosity,
your hate and fear would shut up shut down.
Your heart and home would open expand make way.
You would hear not screams, but intelligent ideas endearing emotions liberal benevolence soothing sentiments
and you would do anything in your power to protect their lives and their hearts, and protect your relationship with them.