I'm not sure what to write about today...
It snowed again yesterday. There were robins and cardinals at the feeder. Sparrows too. I enjoyed looking at the dramatic contrast between the multitude of bright red and orange birds, the dark brown trees, and the silvery snow shinning in the sun. And today the wind is howling. It nearly blew me off my slippery deck. Yet the calendar says it's the end of March, almost April. "It should be more like spring," I say to myself. "There's been entirely too much snow this year. It's Virginia after all."
But that's not what the birds say I bet. While I see their feathers fluffed out to protect their bodies from the cold, they likely accept it all, little smart bird-beings that they are. They aren't judgers or complainers. Unlike me, they don't assess the rightness or wrongness of the world by a calendar or their notion of good and bad, winter and spring, snow or no snow but by what is and what surrounds them. That's what they know, beyond moment by moment perceptions. They are guided, no doubt, by some mysterious bird-god (perhaps more commonly known as mother nature, universal law, almighty God, Yahweh, whatever the force is) that tells them only to do what they can do, to respond to the world by drawing on their inner truth and wisdom and things will turn out the way they turn out. Life will move on.
So they move forward, not contemplating how things could be improved in their lives, but listening to some deeper calling, inspiring them to be who and what they are. Soon there will be nests in the bushes and on the rafters of my porch. There will be sweet music sung from the flowering trees above my yard. There will be little off-spring gobbling down another meal of bugs and worms and soon flying off in the sunshine. And I'll still be hoping for a warmer spring tomorrow and wondering what to write about.