'Hope' is the thing with feathers

 I have no doubt the mockingbird was minding its own business. The last several days had been colder than usual, so it was probably on the ground looking for seeds or tiny bugs to eat. I imagine it was deep in thought, wondering how it was going to feed the kids, counting its blessings about being able to fly, contemplating its place in the universe, hoping to inspire the younger generation into making the most of the time they are given. All the while being unaware of its impending doom.

I know it was a mockingbird because its feathers are scattered all over the front porch like a pillow fight gone terribly wrong. A gift from the cat, no doubt. A white elephant present you weren’t expecting, but here it is and now you have to decide what to do about it.

It’s Saturday morning. The sun is up. Our recent cold snap is behind us. Inside, the washing machine is running and the heater just kicked on; the cat is asleep on the couch. Outside, a gentle breeze is ringing the wind chimes; above that, I can hear birds singing their wordless songs. 

Looking through the kitchen window, I see a couple of mockingbirds chasing each other like children playing tag. Oh, how much more exciting the game would be if only Ma was around. Has anybody seen her lately?

I grab a broom and head out to the porch.

The temperature is still a little cool in the shade, but stepping out into the sun is a warm handshake from an old friend you haven’t seen in ages. I have on a light jacket. No gloves. No long johns. I’m free to move around without shivering and wishing I’d stayed inside for another cup of coffee. I sweep away the white elephant and contemplate the conversation I need to have with the cat.

“Hey. Listen buddy. Stick with mice. Birds are our friends.”

“What’s this ‘our’ business? Your friends, maybe. But for me, birds are the challenge, the adventure, the Mt. Everest of catch and have an afternoon snack.”

“Okay, but how about the philosophy of ‘catch and release’? I see you playing with mice every now and then, and you just let them go.”

“Oh. I understand now. Admit it — you didn’t like the present. I swear there’s no pleasing you.”

The sun comes up, the sun goes down. The moon, in waxing crescent, peeks through the leafless trees; Venus is bright in the southwest sky, and happy to share its space with Saturn; Jupiter is high above; Mars is off to the east; Uranus and Neptune, even though they are quite shy, also take part in the parade. 

The planets, in their own way, smile and wave at the crowd, throw bead necklaces and candy to the children, and put on a show well worth remembering. It doesn’t matter that the planets don’t even know we exist. We know that they exist, and that’s good enough.

And the world begins another spin around the neighborhood. Today we’re expecting cloudy skies and light rain. It’s still chilly out, but bearable. A gentle breeze is ringing the wind chimes, the cat is asleep in its bed, and the dishwasher is finishing another load. Above all that, I can hear the birds singing their wordless songs, sounding to me like Emily Dickinson’s poem that begins, “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” Without even wanting anything in return, they give me hope that tomorrow will be a better day.