Good morning, world. It’s my favorite kind of day, when the clouds and humidity put a veil between me and the sun. I doubt it will rain, but the sky wants me to believe it will. Everything is still. Leaves on the trees are greener on days like these, allowed to show their true colors instead of being washed out by the sun’s rays. My prayer plant’s leaves are more erect, they appreciate the softer canopy and lift their leaves in appreciation. Haze covers the sky and the horizon so I cannot see across the bay. What I see is only in near focus, not afar.
I woke thinking about something someone said to me long ago. He became CEO after being plucked from his accounting office to lead the company. He was variable as the weather, and my feelings towards him was equally variable. He said something to me, publicly, humiliatingly, that left me with no response, but in these days of living quietly, of reflection, I realized what I should have said just then. It was a learning moment that passed me by. Some might say I should be grateful for it. If we are lucky we learn how to accept and rise from our mistakes and be humbled, grateful for the things we endured in the past, that we can develop our selves and become stronger persons. Meanwhile, we wrestle with the hurt and grief that never leaves us. And that is not wrong.
It’s a morning where the black kids, employees of the building owner, head back from filling up their hands with buckets of paint and cordless drills, singing–not rapping–but singing. I appreciate their youth, their working in the hot sun, and still maintain a good attitude against it all. I messed with them this morning, and we laughed, and god, it’s just what I needed.
As I write, the lady finch has finally stopped calling. I’ve been up since dawn, and she hasn’t stopped making that sound, that “chew” or “two” sound, loudly, over and over and over again. I don’t know if she’s trying to protect her nest or keep away a prospective mate. She’s like Mrs. Roper on Three’s Company. Why did Stanley put up with her? I wished she would go away last year, and that feeling is back again, but then I remember how silent the world is in winter without her. I often wonder how she survives her passionate, endless “chew” or “two” call, hours on end, without stopping for food or drink? Finches are tiny things, and I thought for sure I’d find her body in the parking lot by now, done in by fervor and lack of hydration, but she is stronger than that. As I write this, her calling has stopped. A reprieve for my ears and for her body, too? Perhaps she’s feeding or drinking fresh water somewhere. When I stepped outside last night, all was still. No birds. Tree limbs frozen. The world is changing around me and it’s awesome. I can’t decide if I like activity or silence more.
As for this moment, it’s all about discovery. Who has access to unending energy, bounty, the desire to create vs. those who watch red balloons floating away and make wishes? Meanwhile, I closed all my windows and turned on the a/c because my spirit, the god of war who turns his back on infants who cry incessantly, needs a rest.