The Late Years Thirty-One

Blue Grosbeak photo by Ellen Tinsley, DVM

The Late Years Thirty-One June 2, 2019

When I arrived at the dam, a little bird
sang to me. He perched on a pipe by the
side of the road over the top of the dam
some minutes before sunrise, and as I
walked closer, he flew to the next pipe 
and again sang. Then the next. When
his mate joined him, they flew up and
then down to the river. I made their
day without even trying, and trying
sometimes doesn’t do it. A freely given 
gift, on the other hand, is always
welcome. What do I give the dark
blue bird, the blue grosbeak, with
his merry song? Only my presence.
He doesn’t ask me for food or drink.
But each morning he returns, as if
to lead me toward the sunrise he
knows in his small bones is coming
closer any minute. He thinks he has
made a conquest since I follow him and
love his little warble, and miss him
when he swoops off again. So many
gifts are given to us every day, but
we have to see them and let them
in to our deep soul. Who would
have thought that my hydrangea bush,
a gift of my daughter, then cut to the 
ground by a neighbor man helping
with yard work, would not only rise
again but put on a hundred blue
blooms? Do we see these gifts? Can
we allow what lies outside our 
familiar inner world, to stir our
gratitude when it’s so freely given?