Woke up to wrens trying to build a nest in my bedroom window. I could hear them scratching around. Didn’t move the curtain ‘cause I didn’t want to discourage them and their nest building. The window is right by my reading chair so I’ll have a great view.

The sky is a dirty white T-shirt color. When I hold the color chart up to the sky, the color word cotton matches perfectly. Hope I haven’t offended nature by describing the color as dirty white. Maybe dingy would be a better adjective. If drab could be a color that would fit perfectly. The cloud cover is dripping rain and the birds are happily feasting on the feeders. The sun is trying to push through the cloud cover. I can see some cloud definition now. The porch is damp and cold. Had to go back in the house for a sweater.

Fatty the squirrel or some other critter has pulled one of the seed cakes feeders off its pole. Too many birds to disturb now but I’ll look for it later. Every day I get a few more of the red breasted grosbeaks. Oldest brother has four visiting his feeders. I have six. Had lots of females yesterday. If you watch them you can tell they are kin to dinosaurs. The tilt of the females head and her keen eyes make me think of the velociraptors from the Jurassic Park movies. Looked it up and modern birds did descended from two legged dinosaurs like the T-Rex and velociraptor.

One of my work friends has buried one of her children. The death of a child is one of the most painful experiences a parent goes through. It’s sad and deeply tragic. The pain never goes away you just learn how to manage it. I’ve struggled the last two days trying to compose a note I can send her, offering a little hope of sunshine in the days ahead. I remember my first days after Rosie’s death. You wake thinking you’d had a nightmare but immediately realize the nightmare is real. You wonder how the sun can shine and how the birds can sing when your world is missing a child. But we don’t want to live in darkness so we struggle to claw our way back into the living world. I know too well your pain, my friend.

Crossing the Bar

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star,

      And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

      When I put out to sea,

   But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

      Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

      Turns again home.

   Twilight and evening bell,

      And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

      When I embark;

   For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place

      The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.