Tag Archives: bird

Bird

We escaped like a bird from a hunter’s trap, The trap is broken, and we are free!
Psalm 124:7

As excited as I was about yesterday’s page, I was equally frustrated by today’s. In fact, it was difficult to push through creating and even more difficult to want to write about it. At one point I said, I do not like this at all!

A voice from the other room said, Ohhh, I hate it.

I assured her that hate was a strong word which I wasn’t ready to use. A few minutes later I was ready.

hate this page.

While reading in Psalms this morning, I was eager to choose a word. It was almost mercy from 123, but when I reached the end of 124, I knew it was bird. An image came to mind that I wanted to create, much like yesterday’s thistle.

I envisioned an open cage with a bird flying from it or maybe a trap or something that looked like a trap with a bird escaping. I wanted to portray being set free and freedom. I also wanted to use watercolors again, because I loved yesterday’s look so much.

It’s today, though. A new day. A different one. What worked yesterday was not going to work today. This became painfully obvious shortly after I painted the background. When I added colorful triangles around the border that I thought would look like a trap, they didn’t.

Glue stick would not work, so I used wet glue. Which smeared the watercolors.

I have lots of ready cut pictures of birds. All perching, not flying. I did not have time to search for a flying bird. I was hoping to get this page knocked out quickly. Instead it was knocking me out.

Looking through my cut pictures, I chose one of the perching birds. I was also drawn to a house shown from the side with manicured shrubs and rose bushes lining its brick walkway. I glued it on. It took up most of the page.

I decided to perch the bird in a tree, so I found some branches and glued them on the page. I cut random parts of other trees for the leaves and perched the bird. This is what my work space looked like all morning. I felt as if I were working upside-down and backwards as I tried to compose the page.

Here it is almost finished. There are a lot of layers.

This is the end result looking nothing like I imagined. I have gone from hating it to tolerating it to loving it. As I study what I was drawn to add to the picture and where I could or could not place things, I see how the bottom and left side are more structured, rigid, and formal. There is movement to the right and upwards where the bird is. This area is less structured, more playful, and free-flowing.

It depicts movement into freedom!

I find my words on the opposite page ironic. This is my style, my touch, the way I show up. And. It’s. Okay. I totally showed up in this space as myself today. I could not hold it back, no matter how hard I tried to do it the right way. 

I share this as encouragement to continue to trust the process, wherever you are in it. Today looked nothing like what I planned time wise and picture wise. I battled perfectionism and self-doubt and fear. There was anxiety. Then I stepped away and looked back.

And it was just right.

Bird Nest

Sitting on the floor of my daughter’s vacation room, I look through the glass door up at the nest. It is tucked into the balcony rafters. Mama bird has just returned to her babies.

I feel a kinship with mama bird, seeing as I am here this week with my three youngest chickadees. It’s a different vacation dynamic than years gone by.

The last time we were in this space, our unit was divided into a boys’ side and a girls’ side. There were eight of us. Someone got sick.

This year we are four females until Papa bird joins us. Each has her own space. Mine is on a pull-out sofa. Some years that is how it goes. I wanted my older girls to have their own rooms.

It’s kind to have a getaway gifted by the in-laws in the midst of this transitional summer. The change of scenery is doing us good, even if it’s only a different space to eat and sleep and watch Cartoon Network.

For me it’s also doing yoga on my travel mat, reading books, and journaling. It’s laughing with the girls at episodes of Teen Titans and Gumball and crying alone during Inside Out and A Wrinkle in Time.

It’s going for walks in the heat and playing miniature golf on a course where the young man behind the counter taking our money recognizes us from years ago when he was younger and his family came to our house for dinner that time.

We are not far.

Just like that mama bird who swoops down and away whenever I try to sneak out onto the balcony for a closer look, I swoop out and away to my own balcony to read or write. I swoop out for walks.

I always return, just like her.

Unlike her, my babies are old enough to swoop out on their own, as well. Little Mae took her own walk last evening. My teenage daughter steps out regularly for moments of self-care.

Teen sons are each off on their own adventure this month, instead of on vacation with the family. That is how seasons shift and change.

Maybe that is what continues to draw me to the floor of this room looking out of the window and up at a bird nest. Grounding. Remembering all of my birds when they were contained.

I always ask first.

May I go look at the bird?

Usually the answer is affirmative, unless I have been particularly annoying or grievous. Then I just wait a bit and ask again.

Mama has hopped out of the nest and is perched on the ledge. Her eyes peer around, scoping out the territory. I refrain from opening the door or making a sudden movement.

Instead I sit and bless her. I listen to her song through the window and marvel at her role in the world. She is enough just being a bird.

She does not have to compete with or compare herself to other birds. She is enough moving back and forth from her own nest minding her own business.

Enough. Just like these words.

Just like me.

Insomnia

I don’t know if this is called insomnia or just waking up early. Whatever it is feels awful, and a cheerful bird in the tree outside is not helping matters. It has been merrily singing since 4:20 when I stirred with relief that it wasn’t 5:30 and jotted down the significant parts of a dream I was having.

winding dirty clock, trying to clean its face, tight springs, friend’s name, arrival at Air Bnb

I worked to keep my head in a fuzzy place of sleep while simultaneously staying conscious enough to type keywords into my phone’s notepad. Sometimes I actually succeed. The pounding in my skull warned that this was probably not one of those times and to be prepared.

The bird continued calling for attention as my stomach began chiding me for thinking that eating limited edition pumpkin pie ice cream from the grocery outlet was a good way to deal with yesterday’s difficult feelings.

Just one more spoon of the cinnamon-graham cracker swirl and maybe this will all feel manageable.

It does not work, by the way, and adding a grasshopper cupcake or vodka martini as a chaser is also counter-productive. Trying popcorn as a final late-night comfort measure, while warm and buttery going down just sits there on top of everything laughing. Then it all turns into a dirty clock the needs to be wound but is so tight that its springs are going to pop.

Dear Future Me. Like tomorrow’s me, or rather, today’s . . .

So here I sit in a space where if I were a real, intentional writer, I would be proud to awaken early in the quiet pre-dawn hours getting words out of my head and onto paper or into cyberspace. Instead, I anxiously glance at the bottom right corner of the screen watching the minutes tick away until I really have to wake up and face another day.

The alarm on my wrist buzzes the arrival of morning for real as the coffee pot lets out its final sigh and the smell of coffee fills the air.

Time is ticking. Counting down. Precarious.

So much change is on the horizon. So much is currently happening. So much swirls inside, and I run around chasing it with spoons of creamy, cold deliciousness, rather than making the hard, healthy choices.

I am tired of what feels so hard, which is everything at the moment.

Time has come.

Time to exit my quiet writing space and enter the kitchen where lunches wait to be prepared and coffee waits to be poured, and I wait to see what this day holds.

Good Morning, Friends. For real this time!