Oh my. Back on the back deck. The sun is beaming down, the weather app says it’s 55, the sky is blue, the grass is green. This will do nicely.
Five blackbirds are sitting in a tree — now six — maybe 25 feet away and above me. Perhaps they are plotting my demise a la Hitchcock? More likely they are wondering what I am and what this big structure is and why I need such a large home in the middle of their territory — not to mention why I am sitting so close to the platter filled with seed for them to eat?
Do they gain any solace from seeing that these two gentle creatures sitting by my side are clearly not afraid of me? Or are the dogs, like the birds, anxious that I feed them?
My preference is to sit here in the sun even though there is plenty of work to be done on spring cleaning and maintenance. My excuse-o-meter objects: “It’s the Sabbath. Rest, rest.” I accept that for now, but I’d better not still be making excuses Monday morning.
There is a proverb about sitting, folding one’s hands, and resulting poverty. I should heed that, too.
Way in the sky beyond the trees, two birds sail briefly through my field of vision. The first pelicans of the season? or simply gulls? The glimpse was too quick and distant to be sure.
The blackbirds are still gathered, checking me out. The sun on my face is comforting. Being outside is freeing. I take deeper breaths, I see farther, I hear more. A small plane drones overhead. The blackbirds chitter, a mourning dove coos somewhere. So this is rest. I like it.
