My Heart Would Break If I Couldn’t Hear The Birds

DEP prompt 26 of 52: sounds of nature are like music with joy.

Backyard birds present a free concert

Being able to hear sounds is a precious gift. The one sound that thrills me most is the music of birds. Their song greets me most mornings as soon as the sun rises. I know that all is right with my world when I hear them.

I look out my bedroom window and marvel at those who visit my feeders. They vie for an empty perch to get at the seeds. Others sit on electric wires or hide in the evergreen trees for a chance to gain access.

I see common sparrows and chickadees. Yellow goldfinches, house finches and cardinals sport brilliant colors. The flickers, woodpeckers and white breasted nuthatches hunt for insects on the maple. The red winged blackbirds are bullies. Mourning doves, slate colored juncos, and a robin forage for seeds on the ground.

All day long they fill my yard with cheerful melodies. The individual notes provide background music as I work outside. It has a calming effect on my body. I’m not aware of the passage of time. All is good and pleasant around my home. Even my dog sits and cocks his ear at the beautiful sounds. If the wren is present, he sings nonstop.

When I take Rusty for his walks, I hear bird songs all along our route. I can’t identify all, but I do recognize a few. Blue Jays like to congregate in the trees at the neighborhood park. In the winter I’ll see a bald eagle high overhead, enjoying the wind drafts. A harrier hawk swoops down, then lifts with a tiny rabbit in its claws.

Crows are great robbers of other birds’ nests. I see them fly away to escape the anger of birds chasing them. Their tantalizing caws fill the air. Big bullies. Yet when I see many of them gather in a tree, I pay attention. They have been messengers in the past.

When I wanted to sell my condo in Oregon so I could move to Washington, crows cawed at me for days. Whole flocks of them. Soon I realized that everything was working in my favor. I was to be patient. The universe used those birds to communicate with me. I often get messages from birds when I need advice. The species will vary.

When I moved to our current house with my daughter and Jack, four harrier hawks lined up on the porch roof. They looked at me. I knew in my heart that this was the right home for us. And thanked God for the message.

Birds are communicators of potential weather conditions

When I don’t hear them, I know that something is amiss, some storm is brewing. One time a friend and I went backpacking in New Zealand. The weather was ideal. But a snow storm hit us in the afternoon. We were too far along on the track to turn around and retreat.

The route was marked with tall poles spaced several feet apart. We could still see them through snow flurries. We didn’t know how far the next hut was. I prayed for guidance to go the distance. The storm intensified and obscured our vision. We had no choice but to carry on, heads bowed before the wind. Praying we wouldn’t miss the poles.

When I was about to doubt our sanity, a break occurred in the whiteout. A faint outline of the hut appeared. The short glimpse quickened our pace. We made it inside to safety. There was a wood stove with a dry pile of kindling beside it. A fire warmed our cold bodies. We put water on to boil some fortifying tea.

While eating a reconstituted dehydrated meal, we took stock of our situation. We hadn’t heard any birds all afternoon. There was no sign of them outside the windows. Nothing but silence prevailed. We banked the fire. Then crawled into the warm cocoon of down sleeping bags.

The next morning the storm continued. No one knew where we were. Our husbands knew only of our intended plan to hike around Mt. Ruapehu. There was no cell phone service. All the huts had closed for the season. We had to rely on our own resourcefulness.

We emptied our packs of all the food we had. If we rationed, it could last three or four days. We spent the day chopping and sawing more wood on the covered porch. There were dead trees piled beside the hut. The activity kept us warm. We dried wet socks and mittens over the stove.

The next day the snow had ceased. A weak sun shone through a cloud cover. We resumed our labor cutting more wood. We knew our husbands would move heaven and earth to send a chopper aloft to search for us. But the skies remained overcast. No birds were seen. An eerie silence settled around us. I knew we should stay put. It could snow again anytime.

The following morning I glanced out the window. Birds were pecking at the snow. “Lizzie,“ I cried, “there are birds outside.” It was a favorable weather sign.

We ate quickly. Then filled our backpacks and left a sizable pile of wood for the next visitor. Trekking through the snow was slow. Retracing our path we arrived at a hut by midday. I felt we should stop and recuperate. Lizzie wanted to go on. We argued the validity of the idea. It would be another eight miles. We wouldn’t get out until dusk. Guess what — she won. The woman was adamant.

“Okay, but I need to eat one of our dinners.” She listened to that. We boiled water to reconstitute a meal. It was a delicious beef dinner. The taste stayed with me on our trek out of there. It gave me enough energy to place one foot in front of another. We reached the hotel as the sun went down.

After a shower, we entered the dining room for a hearty meal. We were famished to say the least. Lizzie ordered a bottle of chardonnay. When ready to leave and return to our room, we rose as one. Our legs had cramped from inactivity and lactic acid buildup. Both of us lurched with every painful step taken. We acted like a couple of drunks. Of course we giggled, leaning on one another.

Leaving the dining room, we sank to the floor in gales of laughter. Holding our stomachs in mirth. Then crawled to our room, where we used bed frames to stand upright. Massaging sore muscles and pacing the hallway helped to ease the agony in time. “God, the friends I hang out with.”

Hope you understand why the sight and sounds of birds are very important to me.

My gratitude to the editors of Dancing Elephants Press; Dr. Gabriella Korosi, Dr. Preeti Singh, and Vidya Sury, Collecting Smiles for these weekly prompts:

Please read this interesting article by Sandra Pawula about aging with grace and accepting our looks.