When it's over, when the next change changes everything, we call it death. Short of that, the end is often only realized it hindsight. Not so with this one. In April I will begin the process of becoming a resident and, eventually, a Portuguese citizen
I am writing this in a room converted from an outside deck which will become my office/studio base in Oregon. Half the ceiling is curved glass that comes down nearly to the floor and comprises 2/3s of the long wall facing east. The surface of the remaining portion of that wall and its opposite, were formerly the outside of the house. Boxes of collectables, not mine, are stacked to my left, marked and ready to be moved to storage until they are sold. In the north, the figure of a contemplative sits in meditation. Wooden beads hang from his neck and drape over the table along with a second necklace, a Chinese prayer card with a long gold tassel. Behind him are four Chinese small reddish clay tea pots of varying shapes and sizes. All sit on a small deep red rug with an intricate design. They too will be packed, moved, and eventually sold.
I will miss my birds in the Bird Park. Maggie the Seven O'clock Magpie still looks for me. She knows I will always return. Last week, after being gone six months and back one day, I put some peanuts out and she showed up. I will miss her. I will always miss her, especially in the morning, and the others . . . beautiful Minerva the crow, the quail clan, the little birds, the spring robins coming for their apples, Plonk and the rest of the pigeons, charming chatterbox Charlie and the rest of the crow clan, but especially and always my Maggie.
Language itself is a barrier.
4 comments:
You have indeed caused a ripple in the local ecology, but your time there is done. Sorry that sounded a little TOO profound, but you know what I mean. I'm sure Maggie will miss you too. We bought a big bag of quail food--and also those stupid mourning doves will hang around and get their share--to toss out in the area behind the back fence, and so they have all added the area to their morning and evening routine. The quail have quickly learned who to trust, and on which side their bread is buttered, so I can now stand there by the iron fence and they won't run from me as I throw handfuls of seed at them.
I wish you luck on the next move.
"but your time there is done"
Somebody had to say it, so thanks. Now, if I get second thoughts, I can quote you to myself. As for Maggie, I hope you're right. At least, I like to think we have a connection. She doesn't come land on my finger but none of them seem to mind when I take their picture. That is so cool your quail don't run when you're around. The ones here are a little more skittish. But why don't you like the mourning doves? I think they're fantastic. The only birds I take exception with here are the hawks who seem to think the Bird Park is their private roadside diner.
The doves are OK. They wait patiently, en masse, on a nearby branch when the quails seem to be dominating the "seedscape" or else they are very sociable with the quail and eat alongside them. They get a little agitated and flap their wings at each other, but I believe it's done with a degree of tolerance.
Oh good. Then all's well in the world. Right now the Grackles are making their yearly visit to the Bird Park en route to wherever it is they go. I wish they'd stay. They fill a tree and then the air with their song.
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