A mamma bluebird perches atop the electrical line, keeping an ever watchful eye on the box that houses her young ones below. She and Papa never travel far from their young. Every so often Papa returns to the nest and peers in through the hole in the box to check in on the youngsters.
Redwing Blackbirds chirp loudly as they dart back and forth across the summer sky. They now own the south field where in late winter and early, early spring the Red Tail, Kestral and various other hawks ruled and hunted. Now seldom is a hawk seen as the Redwing sentries perch atop grass and weed. And if a hawk dare traverse their territory he is met with quick aggression, chased off by a flurry of redwings.
We planted that tree in 88 or 89 during our first residence here, having dug it from my sister’s property. Just a small, young thing, it survived being bumped and broken more than once by the lawnmower. Not only did it survive, it thrived. When we returned here in 06 it was a wonderful sight to behold…our tree stood tall and mature, providing perfect afternoon shade for the front lawn and the south window.
When we first returned here in May of 06 to begin clean up as a favor to our friends, I would take a few minutes to myself on occasion to go out, sit on the ground and face the woods. I would find myself speaking with the trees and sometimes I would cry, yearning to come back. Oh how I had missed the beauty of their presence.
What is it that connects us so strongly to a place, making us feel so sure of where we belong? I do not know, but I do know beyond a doubt that it exists. And so, for a moment or two each day, I find myself being consciously thankful for my return.
Very well said. I love the Spring on the blogs ... sounds like a funny thing to say, but I find that we all have such lovely things to say about how we are inspired by nature and connected to place.
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