This morning my husband mentioned that a dove was nesting in one of our Vitex trees. I hadn’t noticed. She had hidden herself and her nest so well that it was difficult to get a photo. I quietly moved between the low-hanging branches for the best shot. She didn’t move a muscle or bat an eye. I assured her that I meant no harm.
It seems late in the season for a new family, but perhaps new life is never out of season. No doubt the chicks will grow quickly. I hope they survive the winter to come.
At the last light, well after sunset, a throng of wrens in the surrounding trees suddenly burst into song. I only see two or three of them during the day, but when they join together in the evening serenade, there must be hundreds of them hidden in the trees. They finally settle down when the light has completely faded. Then again, at the first light of dawn, the anthem begins again and continues until the sun has risen.
In the short life of a bird, I suppose the going and coming of the light is indeed a momentous thing. I need to learn from this.
Not long ago, some trees in our neighborhood common had to be cut down. (Fortunately, there are still plenty of others left.) I hardly noticed the stumps until an enterprising neighbor worked with an artist to decorate them with metal sculptures.
At first there were only a few. Then, more and more began to appear. Each morning brought new surprises: a quail, a spiral, and even a basketball hoop.
One day, I saw a woman walking with her young family. Her daughter ran from one to the next. Look Mommy!Look!
The pictures say it all. At first glance, the trees all look the same, but a closer look reveals that each is unique. People are much the same. There is a certain tension between our desire for unity and our need to express ourselves as individuals. Another life-long, mysterious pursuit of balance.