I was sitting on the deck one morning this past week and heard the thrumming of hummingbirds. I tilted my head back to see a ruby and emerald pair hovering in the air above me, come for one of the feeders hanging from the eaves of the house. (I had heard years ago that if you put up one hummingbird feeder, you need to put up a second at least 12 feet away for territorial reasons, so I do.) As I watched the two tiny bodies, two huge bird bodies—turkey vultures (see August 30)–glided into view no more than 10 feet above them. There, for a moment, suspended in the air, but so close I could see the color of feathers, were two of the smallest winged ones and two of the largest. One of those dramatic visions that imprint in your brain. Like the time friends and I were on a road trip to scatter a friend’s ashes in Sedona, Arizona, and a hawk suddenly appeared before the windshield as we drove on a desert highway, in its talons a huge wriggling snake. We all gasped as the hawk and snake were framed there for a moment before the hawk with snake rose out of sight. A vision indeed, and some powerful medicine.
The hummingbirds and vultures paired for that moment felt like a gift. I am so grateful to be in a place where I receive such gifts all the time. As I’m writing this, I can hear the hummingbirds chirruping in the eucalyptus trees. This is the special sound they make when they are perching, distinct from the whizzing and whirring sounds they make when they fly. If you don’t know better, you might think the sound is from some kind of beetle or cicada, but it’s uniquely hummingbird. There they sit, holding onto a twig with their tiny feet and chirruping. I count myself lucky that I’ve gotten to see a hummingbird’s feet—so moving somehow in their incredible tininess. The hummingbirds’ chirruping quiets when the sun goes down.
Then begins another gift from the winged ones—the calling of the owls. Last night they began before dark. Too excited to wait, maybe, they began to call to each other at twilight, when there were still sunset pinks and oranges in the sky. It sounded like they were in two of the eucalyptus trees, not far from each other, and they hooted back and forth for a long time. If my skills were better developed, I thought, I could understand them. One of the things we’ve given up in modern life.
Though I often hear the owls calling here, usually in the dark of night, I’ve only seen them twice. Once one was perched on a branch of the young eucalyptus by my house, regarding me steadily as I stood on the deck, holding my breath at the sight. One of the cats distracted me and when I looked up again, the owl was gone. Another time when I drove up the driveway at dusk, an owl was perched on one of the fence posts and as I passed flew up to roost in the oak tree at the curve in the drive.
Years ago, someone told me about a bedtime ritual that I have come to love. Lying in bed, you tell each other (kids’ answers are wonderful!) or yourself one good thing that happened that day. I try to remember to do this before I go to sleep at night. When I first started this, the good things were more “doing” items like I got two new editing clients or had fun at a birthday party or finished a project I had been working on. Over time, as the animals and nature pulled me into their world more and more, which means living in the moment, the good things were often about “being,” as in I got to see an owl, Charlotte and I had a long communing session this morning, Pegasus gave me her special love nibble today, the nearly full moon was rising during the sunset (which it is at this moment). Now I find that the list of good things is almost endless, even when I’m going through a rough time, because in every moment there are gifts. Maybe it’s a function of age, but I’m finding that I am more and more grateful for just being alive.
I think of Keith Richards saying at the Stones concert at the Oakland arena last year: “I’m glad to be here.” Then adding after a pause, “Actually, I’m glad to be anywhere.” Ha ha, Keith joining in the jokes about him as walking cadaver, but probably actually meaning it after his brush with death due to falling on his head from that palm tree in Fiji.
I’ve had a lot of death in my life this year, and death always highlights the preciousness of life, but really, the animals, and all of nature, do that every day. Gazing into an animals’ eyes, taking the time to look up at the birds flying overhead, or listening to their sounds is a reminder of the celebration of life. To tune in is to celebrate.
Tonight I’m going to say the wonderful thing that happened to me today was being alive.
© Stephanie Marohn, 2007