Magnolias announced Spring a hare’s breath before Japanese and other flowering Cherries in the Pacific NW. Magnolias, holding tight to their magic in fuzzy bud scale-tipped twigs waited until the perfect moment. It was an overnight awakening after a spat of short-sleeved weather that splayed the white-bright petals out like a child’s rendition of a tissue-paper star. A sweet aroma enticed me to breathe deep. Cherries, not to be outdone, have erupted like small firework displays on their branches. Pompoms clustered like small fists ready to punch wonder into my Winter addled brain.
Lessons from the Pandemic: Unsettled Grief—Where do we go from here?
Wee birds have created three nests outside my apartment. Three! One on the wreath attached to my front door. Two are on the deck in hanging pots. Juncos have taken up residency, voicing annoyance with every coming and going. I tap on the door before exiting, tug slowly on the handle and apologize to the small body complaining on the railing, railing at my disturbance. When I return home, I see a small head poking out of the nest. I wave my hand “hello,” and the mama flies out and sizes me up, assess the situation. Will I try to harm her eggs? What tack should she take? Attack? Opening the door, I slip inside. I want to retrieve my step stool and peek at the eggs, but that seems like an intrusion. They need nurturing. Warmth, not peering. So I leave them be, though I can’t resist snapping a quick photo before she returns.
