This morning at first light, long streaks of colour
my aunt would call casan searraich
appeared in the sky just outside my window.
The wind was ferocious; too early for bird song.
I watched a wee bird on my pampas grass.
Hither and thither the unrelenting wind blew her.
The fronds shook in a crazy dance as she swayed,
but she was intent, and focussed on her breakfast.
The precious seed would nourish her tiny body today.
Having flown half way across the world, so frail, so fragile.
Yet, locked inside her, a wee beating heart,
a strong will to feed, to live, to bring up her babies.
Her grip on the stalks held and I watched
an echo of life played out before me.
While my early morning, inspirational companion
battled the elements, I had my own battle to fight.
No other birds joined in this dangerous dance.
They were well protected, well fed,
probably well sheltered in the hen house,
so I pondered this inspiring event.
Why her? Why now? The symbolism did not escape me.
She, of all birds, arrived at a time
when I most needed encouragement. I wanted
to celebrate with her, a life, long or short as it may be.
Does she have a nest? Eggs?
Babies waiting for her?
I took encouragement from her story;
we were both fighting to survive. This tiny living bird,
struggling to stay connected to her branch,
didn’t know where she would eat or sleep tomorrow.
Maybe, before this day is out, another bigger, stronger bird,
or a prowling cat will take her away.
The one who observed her closely remembered words
of great wisdom; “Take no heed for the morrow,”
“Our lives and times are precious.” I celebrate that.
And this little bird, unknown to me, has inspired me.
I look into my cache of memories, select a long-ago story,
an image of my grandfather and me;
how tenderly he released a wee robin in the snow.
Today, and every day, each day, I will celebrate life.
My memories. My hopes. My fears,
even the bad days after treatment.
I am alive.
Together, we will be free.
Cathie Laing. Uist Writing Group.