A few days ago , on my way to the grocery store, I took my camera and stuck it, facing skyward, amidst the branches of a tree that leans towards my car on the side of the driveway. I cannot find my boots and with a yard plus of snow, there's not much I can aim my camera at. So, I aimed UP. Partial to blue and snow and evergreens, my wanderlust was temporarily appeased. This morning the road was a sheet of ice. I called in sick because I really was. Approximately five hours after I usually leave for work, it was also five degrees warmer and the rain had melted enough of the ice that I could crawl my way to a main road and go see the doctor. As I reached for the car door handle, though, an unusual twittering and chattering of birds brought my attention to this tree again. Lived here most of my years. I have been turning my head toward the sound of birds for as long as I can remember. I have never, however, found what I found deep in these boughs today. Chickadees. Chickadees! HERE!!! ... in a tree slated for removal due to its extreme lean towards where I park my car. And, of course, I did not have my camera with me. And, of course, when I returned from the doctor they were nowhere to be found. But they were there. Today's gift.
~
Look at the Chickadee
I take my lesson from the chickadee
who in the storm
receives a special fire to keep him warm,
who in the dearth of a December day
can make the seed of a dead weed his stay,
so simple and so small,
and yet the hardiest hunter of them all.
The world is winter now and I who go
loving no venture half so much as snow,
in this white blinding desert have been sent
a most concise and charming argument.
...
I have this brief audacious word to say:
look at the chickadee,
that small perennial singer of the earth,
who makes the week of a December day
the pivot of his mirth.
~Jessica Powers
