Good News-bits

In good news this morning, a tiny brownish bird has decided to occupy an old birdhouse that we mounted on a fence post years ago. It was made by a friend and has an opening so small, I didn't think any bird could enter, but it seems to suit this miniature winged fellow just fine. I'm absurdly thrilled to catch a glimpse of a flutter and watch this bird disappear inside, or hover nearby like a new homeowner admiring his property. The current theory is that it’s a great-crested flycatcher. When last seen, it had a moth in its beak and was being harassed by two bully jays, but flew through the too-tiny-for-jays opening into the safety of its house.

In more good news, we planted another baby oak in a very auspicious location near the creek, and I think it's going to do well. I believe that one day someone who is my grandson's age right now will stand and look up in wonderment at its high leafy branches and marvel at the thick solidity of its gnarled trunk. Rebecca Solnit's reflections are applicable here: “There’s an Etruscan word, saeculum, that describes the span of time lived by the oldest person present, sometimes calculated to be about a hundred years. In a looser sense, the word means the expanse of time during which something is in living memory. Every event has its saeculum, and then its sunset when the last person who fought in the Spanish Civil War or the last person who saw the last passenger pigeon is gone. To us, trees seemed to offer another kind of saeculum, a longer time scale and deeper continuity, giving shelter from our ephemerality the way that a tree might offer literal shelter under its boughs.”

Speaking of birds, I've been enjoying pecking around a book of poems by Robert Wrigley called The True Account of Myself As A Bird. It was given to me by my poet friend Dan, and I find there is much in here that I like. The Consciousness of Everything is a favorite. It reminds me of the mind set of Felix, and of a little childhood space that is still right here in my own head, door unlocked and ajar, and all I have to do is remember that, and beam myself in.

One phrase I like in this poem is: My daughter asked, 'Is the wind a girl?' So charming, and a valid question. I used to jot down my daughter's colorful comments and observations when she was a little girl. I guess I knew there was something happening that I didn't want to lose. (I just didn't realize how fast it was spinning away.)

Lucky me, I have a neighbor named Virginia, who is now 9, (and I’ve written about her often) who wants to be a writer, and we've been having online visits brainstorming story ideas. I suggested once that she could even write about the experience she is having right now in real life, and she was not the slightest bit interested. I think that view of life asserts itself oppressively all the time. She wants to weave tales of emerald dragons and brave young girls who live in hollowed out trees and are very smart but also possess magic.

I type out her ideas as fast as I can and email them back to her, and we go over things together and develop them further. I have no gift for fiction myself, so perhaps I'm the wrong teacher, but I'm trying to get her to "stretch", to think about motivations and plot development, and help her expand her palette of words. I ordered her a thesaurus for children that should arrive any day now. I told her it would be more fun than a box of chocolates.

One day, long ago, when Virginia was about 6, we were searching for mermaid treasures in a rivulet of sea water by the beach, finding sparkling stones and shells and things, and the sun dipped low in the sky and made everything glow, and it was truly magic. And she stopped and said, "I'll always remember this." I said, "Yes, you will. Even when you're old and far away. It's yours forever." I think she understood.

More good news. I went for a hike with my good friend Diane. More honestly, we went for a series of picnics together, walking a stretch, then stopping often to have snacks and water in the shade.

And there is leftover pizza in the fridge right now––my favorite breakfast!