When things don't go as planned...

On Birds and other less than dynamic launches.

All work on The Writist is created by me, a simple human whose intelligence is fallible and fleeting and anything but artificial.

Yesterday we reintroduced our rescue cardinal to her natural habitat. Surrounded by excited grands, and a few excited adults, we had hoped she would wing her way into the woods leaving us behind. Instead, she hop-glided from the deck rail to land softly on the grass, then flutter-hopped towards the leafy understory of our back woods. Not exactly what we had hoped would be a soaring re-entry.

Maple Kiwi on release day!

The kids named her Maple, and later Maple Kiwi because, of course, she needed a middle name. Maple Kiwi had broken her wing, probably crashing into one of our windows. We found her trapped in our back door well during one of the coldest weeks of the winter and after carefully capturing her, set her up in a cage (leftover from rescuing a starling named Raisin last year), fed her, covered the part of the cage that faced our living space, and promised to keep her warm and safe until it was time for her to return to her own home.

Maple became increasingly restless over the last couple of weeks. We noticed there was a single male cardinal loitering about the back yard during her stay and since Cardinals are monogamous creatures, we were convinced he was her mate. On nicer days I would keep the deck door near her cage open so she could hear the world outside, and it stands to reason that she would be heard as well. Perhaps they called to each other like secretive teenagers suffering from separation and deep longing. With spring inching closer and Maple using her wings more aggressively, we felt the time was right to let nature have Maple back. Tender grand child tears delayed her release by a few days until hearts were prepared to say good-bye. And, if I am honest, I was slightly reluctant too.

This morning I could here her call, a sound I’ve grown accustomed to hearing from her partly draped cage in the dining room. In the chilly, pale morning light I took my coffee outside to see if I could find her in the shadows. It didn’t take long to catch sight of her rustling about in the dun colored leaves. Her hop-flutter was stronger and she was gaining more altitude-which is encouraging. Nature being what it is with Coopers Hawks and other predators lurking about, my own tender heart sends out threads of prayers for her continued healing and protection as she finds her way.

Right now, my creative process feels like it is in the flutter-hop phase. While I hoped my fledgling project would soar upon release, alternate projects, travel, and yet another bout of illness slowed me down to barely a flutter. The best I could muster this last week was binge napping/watching reruns of the Durrells of Corfu on days I didn’t have the strength to read. And that’s ok. Rest can be a necessary part of the process but one that doesn’t come easily—and sometimes it is forced on us. I’m a good one for pushing through, toughing it out, getting things done anyway, but I am learning there are times it is OK to lay it down, let it be, and take my time.

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As morning has warmed, birds have filled the section of yard I can see from where I write. Some are battling it out at our bird feeder, many are foraging in the slowly greening grass, and some look like they are racing for the best seat among the still bare limbs above. A single black squirrel skitters across the deck to sneak drinks of water from a puddle before running off, as if found out. Now, a pair of mourning doves call from the eaves then fly down to scavenge seed spilled from nuthatches and chickadees at the feeder. Moments like this help silence the busy-ness in my brain, slow the barrage of to-do’s, and still the internal voices telling me I am not doing enough, that I don’t have time to be sick- to get back to work! Crammed with these thoughts, can it be that the peace of paying attention, of listening to the mourning doves, or tracing the flight of a racing woodpecker is what I need in these moments? When I can slow my thoughts enough to accomplish anything or to pray, I wonder if deep attention can be its own form creative action, or even prayer?

“Attention is the beginning of devotion” Mary Oliver

Today I am sharing a few pieces that are small devotions of attention, prayers of sorts, for when wordier, more traditional prayers fail to arrive and I can’t sit still long enough to be actively creative.