This essay from todays Times resonated with me. We have a lot of cardinals here in North Carolina, but in the weeks after my mother died, there seemed to be more than usual. They perched on ice-covered branches over the deck. They sang from the dogwood tree in the front yard. Cardinals were my mothers favorite bird, so they were a comfort that winter. My father died 10 weeks later. On the day of his burial 500 miles away in Pennsylvania, I sat on the banks of Davis Lake in Jamestown, oblivious to the cold ground and the blustery wind. As I sat there, a great blue heron flew directly at me, so close I ducked. It landed a few feet away, its pose mimicking my hunched shoulders. A few minutes later, I watched a bald eagle catch a fish right in front of me and soar into the sky. On another gray, drizzling day in May, when I thought the sadness would never leave, I was driving through Piedmont Office Park when two cattle egrets flew in front of me, landing in a field where I was close enough to get their photo. I like to think my parents sent them to tell me everything was OK. Today, overwhelmed from the stress of work, I walked the Chinqua-Penn birding trail. A flock of bluebirds fluttered around our heads as we rounded the trail through the meadow. My mother believed bluebirds were a sign of happiness. I hope she was right.
Posted on: Sun, 02 Nov 2014 22:47:59 +0000
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