BIRD'S NEST

A beautiful fallen bird's nest made of feathers and hay.
A bird's nest made of feathers in my room.

 

While journeying in my backyard, I happened upon a fallen nest. It lay upside down under the laurel tree. I picked it up and took it home, placing it on the sill of my window. Nestled in it were an odd and ever-changing clutch of items: speckled and polished stones; some blue river glass; a feather, or two, added to the mix; and once I placed there a bit of soft possum fur, given to me as a child by an elder lady who wore her artworks as pins on her hat and sweaters.

ELEMENTS:

1. Many many feathers:

- white downy ones
- speckled grey ones
- mangy grey ones
- one black feather

2. Bird poop and supple pine sticks.

3. Bits of straw, golden and with the wheat seeds intact.

4. A strand of blue string.

5. A skein of sheep's wool.

6. A few strands of my long brown hair.

GOOD-NATURED:

ways to help a bird build a nest

1. Have more trees.

2. Have more of everything else too: shrubs, grasses, and flowers.

3. Stop using pesticides.

4. Let twigs fall as they may.

5. Provide a source of water, and a mud puddle or two.

6. Place any loose hairs, or pet furs into rose bushes, or in the bark of trees.

7. Make your yard a safe-haven from predators. 


It was a marvel to look at - this nest. Such a peculiar beauty - all bundled and twiggled together out of these bits of straw and those pieces of pine. I wondered at the creative ability of the bird who built it, then at the abilities of all birds in general; they who build the nests of such elegant design, like the swallow or the hummingbird. Nests that are only used for approximately a moon cycle or two. Nature is incredible.

And then I saw a small glint of gold light reflected from a few of my own hairs, and I was delighted to realise that a part of myself, carelessly discarded out my bedroom window, had found its way into the outer world - woven into the very fabric of the nest. 

 

A bird's nest sitting on my windowsill.

CHURCH & STARS

The church of the Good Shepherd by Lake Tekapo in spring daytime, New Zealand.


SWEET DREAMS

As a child, I would ask my mother every night to, Please, say a prayer for protection. Then my mother would say the same prayer, asking for a great big golden bubble to be placed around our house so that all those people in it might be protected and safe as they slept. That was one of the most comforting things to me: hearing my mother speak softly by my ear, whispering the words like an incantation. I seem to remember feeling more worried for the welfare of my family than for myself. The spell was to protect them, all I needed to feel safe was the nightly ritual.

Now, most every night I sing to Oliver. I sing lulling songs with a faint voice in the dark. He always goes to sleep much more quickly when I sing, and I can hear his breathing change to a deep hum. Sometimes I even sing myself to sleep unknowingly, waking only on the last word of the song. I always sing the one about the stars shining bright, and the night breezes whispering...


Sundown at the church of the Good Shepherd, Lake Tekapo, NZ.
Pathway to Lake Tekapo.
The Church of the Good Shepherd and the milky way of stars, Tekapo.
The Church of the Good Shepherd and a purple tinged milky way with city lights.
The Church of the Good Shepherd at night under stars, Tekapo.