This red collared emerald green jewel with cellophane wings whirred like a ceiling fan with 1260 heartbeats per minute untiring in a bobbing flutter, up, down, back and forth in the light spring breeze perfumed in lilac. With a magical grace hovered suspended in time at the feeder, its long tongue thirst for sun kissed sugared water thirteen licks per second.
A gray windy April day, the goldfinches and red winged blackbirds have migrated back to the feeders swooping up and down like kites flying on the wind. From out under the clusters of dirty snow, patches of thick brown mud and dead winter grass peppered across the yard. Still neither, blue sky or warm sunshine to nurture blooms of purple crocuses and yellow daffodils, they are buried beneath snow as I am cocooned in the confines of these four walls.
In a staring gaze outside of the studio window this mesmerized muse become one with the elements of nature. A gray chunky squirrel shimmies up the curved rod iron pole where the bird feeder is hung to fill his hungry jowls, before scurrying back into the hollowed out tunnel of the old catalpa tree. In a swift red blaze the cardinals’ swoop down darting in and out like flashing beacon lights against the winter white sky. A puffy pair of mourning doves roost nestled close together in the middle of the evergreen. Heavy wet snowfall weighs down the leafless branches of the cherry tree, while little chickadees, nuthatches, and swamp sparrows fly wildly free like dragonflies and fireflies in the summer time. A hairy red-capped woodpecker diligently drills away at the chipped brown window frame, the draft from the old window is bone shivering, my hands cup warmly around a coffee mug inscribed, Grandmothers are just “antique” little girls! Her little pink swing swirls round and round empty in the hallooing wind.
Labor Day ends as do our summer guest, leaving their presence in the dust of departure and cottages dark in the night. Autumn light now bathes in peace and solitude. Only song played, are agile little squirrels crunching through fallen dry leaves feeding on nut and seed.
Summer is quickly leaping to fall no garden harvest not one potted plant placed outside the front door only tangled weeds, like the thick twisted knot in my belly growing tighter and tighter weaving in and out my spine, as my mind weaves weary through threads of gray. Hands continue to shake at humming bird speed no pen to paper only keyboard.