DAWN

It looked funny in the tall lupins. The deer flicked it's tail twice, then it lowered it's head and disappeared. The car rounded the corner. The yearling raised it's head, chewing. She laughed.




“Use this cup! It's better because it's smaller and it's got a spout. You spill too much seed on the ground when you use the other one." He pushed it at her. "It has nothing to do with you," he continued. "It's me. I have a difficult time with mornings. It's best to stay out of my way. Just leave me alone for awhile. And don't let it bother you," he added. "Don't carry any of it."

Yet she was hurt and she did cry. But she was slowly learning to let parts of it go.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

She took the cup and placed it on top of the birdseed in one of the pails she was carrying. Then she walked down the stairs, through the side door, out into the back yard and over to the apple tree. Reaching through the leaves she attached a block of suet in the wire cage and filled three other small feeders with mixed birdseed. She spread six cups of crushed corn at the base of the tree for the pair of mud ducks that lived on the creek. They had come for five years, visiting each spring, daily waddling together into the back yard in late afternoon. One usually ate with the other standing guard, resting in the shade of the tree. Sometimes she sat on the grass near them, quiet in the moment. Other times she watched the wild animals from William's Den inside the house and wrote about them in her journal.

Journal Entry: June 2, morning
-coffee, a little cream
-young birds at the feeder and claws to screen, and whiz the feeder only to dive and return first to feed, to chirp and chatter and be buzzed
-but born to air- to hang to screen head to two and upside down, to beg, to flutter, airborne and landing
-up off the chair. Is the bird hurt?

Journal Entry: June 5, mid-afternoon
-blackbirds dropping from pine trees, hydro lines, sky to lawn with conversations of dozens
-pick, pick, pounce, bound, flitter, flutter
-birds on the go-birds on a mission

Journal Entry: June 8, mornings
-alone but for the many furred and feathered visitors
-8:00 a.m. chipmunks eating, chattering
-9:00 a.m. grackles in a swarm, empty the feeder
-10:00 a.m. seagulls trying to perch on the too tiny legged bird feeder, give up and leave

Journal Entry: June 10, evening
-away from the noise and the street
-listening to the creek water as it burbles and babbles and bubbles it's way through the city

Journal Entry: June 17, early morning, also dusk
-red breasted robins perched on the fence ... singing and sunrise
-sunset, robins return to yard and bathe in sprinkler, catch flies, eat fat worms from the moist grass covered earth

It had been a difficult day and he had just spent the last hour hung up in traffic because of road construction and an old Buick with a blown radiator. Sitting in the old wreck wasn't making the situation any better.

“Anna, I'm home!” Stanley Buxton yelled when he got to the door ... then the realization ... “Damn! I forgot your birdseed!” He called over his shoulder, “I'll be right back!” and was gone.

She sat back down on the couch and picked up her book but realized after a few minutes she couldn't concentrate. Putting the novel on the coffee table, she walked empty-handed across the room to the window. A little breeze played across her skin, stroking her face, tickling her neck.

On the shed roof a squirrel balanced on it's back legs. It was turning a sunflower seed, biting and cracking it with sharp teeth to discard the shell and chew the meat. It scanned the yard. Under a pine bough behind the squirrel Anna recognized the baby chipmunk she had seen yesterday sunning itself on the pile of firewood. She noticed the quiver of it's tiny chest labored by breathing, the slight twitch of thread-thin whiskers, and the motionless stare of onyx eyes.




She remembered the little brown doe, body lost amidst the flowers, head with jaws chewing got her laughing. In that one instant she had understood, felt it's life. She thought of Stanley and how much she loved him and then it passed from view.