Isabella Bird Miscellany

It's a snow day, and boy I'm having a hard time focusing. Darn Ground Hog. He didn't see his shadow. That should mean spring's coming early. Heck, in January we had spring. The end of February however, has brought old man winter back.  I use the hashtag " #doilikesnow ." That's a tricky question, one that appears simple at face value; yes or no. The ruse occurs in the answer, since I'm more gray than black and white. I dig a powder-sugar dusting of snow and pendants of icicles lining the roof edge.  Silhouetted trees with snow clinging to bare branches, catching where limbs meets trunk are simply grand. And, I relish the solace and silence that a snow day creates. All winter dreamy stuff, right?  very small, insignificant snowflakes drifted down swirling casually before obscuring the dirt, pavement, the people it was quiet and subdued all you could see was white no definition between sky meeting earth everyone, everything ...

Walking past the hedge, on the edge of the broken pavement, the path constricts as branches brush past my cheek. The way is narrow and thin; a reflective pace unavoidable. There's life in the hedge - birds and bugs, spiders and the sort. Life seems well designed for creatures of nature. They exist in the hedge and dine on what comes their way; a small interactive society. In some way or another, we all live in a hedge - our town, our community, neighborhood and home. How much we participate in the movement of our hedge depends on us. Take the spider for example. She spins a lively tatted web and then waits, luring in her food. On the other hand, birds flit and flicker, seizing what have you's here and there, and then  return to their nest. Other living things fill additional elements of the hedge. All have a useful fragment of the being. I walk by this hedge most days. And, most days the phrase, "walking past the hedge on the edge" goes through my mi...

Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.  - Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets She sat Mesmerized by bird netting Dropped over the garden and fruit trees It glistened in the sun and moved gracefully in the breeze So did the leaves on the pear tree Morning gentleness as birds made known the day Along with the quaking sound of Aspen Her coffee cup empty With a stained ring and splash down the side Notebook and pen left untouched She stood to tend pots of pink geraniums A train horn sounded from somewhere The neighbor's dog barked Her brown dog lay quietly by the purple table  Brushing hair out of her face Worn hands on her hips, she took stock of her ward and smiled Morning is my time for prayer, meditation and basically waking myself up to the day. I like it quiet and undisturbed. No voices. No talking. No answering. Simply quiet and undisturbed. In the summer, I find one of our Adirondack chairs to...

even city birds know they can find food and a place to rest “ Look at the birds ” – it’s a phrase I often hear in my being. These words are a reminder for me to take my eyes off myself, to notice the attitude and conduct of my feathered friends. Have you noticed how birds never seem to have bad days? I do, but they don’t. I was thinking back on a walk with some of our grands last spring. The leaves hadn’t engulfed the trees quite yet. When things are bare, things are visible. One of our granddaughters noticed a bird nest in the bare branches. She said, very matter of factly, “When I’m a baby bird I can live there.” These are the simple words of an imaginative little girl. She went on to find different sized nests for her big brother and baby sister; each with the same explanation: “When brother is a baby bird he can live there. When sister is a baby bird she can live there.” when I’m a baby bird, will I choose to fly? it’s the nature of baby bird, y...