it's that same feeling
I get when
my children
and grandchildren
are about to leave
for home
four hours south
they're packing bags
loading their car
stripping beds
washing towels
double-checking
for toothbrushes
under beds for little things
easily left behind
like tiny dinosaurs
wayward doll shoes
lone socks
I dread
the tail lights
heading down
our driveway
those I love rolling away
this morning's
stirring
is not unlike
this feeling~
already missing family
before they leave ~
as I watch
my hummingbirds
remnants
of a charm
heading south
on their long journey
for winter
no wee suitcases
no teeny toothbrushes
no sippy snacks for the road
but departing nonetheless
traveling lightly
I want to hug them
tell them to be safe
tell them I'll fix their favorite
nectar next spring
even weed the lantana
A couple of autumns ago, I found some summer patio furniture on a ridiculous clearance sale and bought two loveseats and two coffee tables for the front porch.
I knew I’d like them, but I had no idea how much peace they would bring to my life. As an early riser, I can sit outdoors in the morning in the most extreme heat of the summer, before the sun comes up, to begin the day writing and listening to the treetop concert of the Johnson Funny Farm.
I rise at 5 each morning. I shower, get dressed, put a little color on my face, and brew a cup of Eight O’Clock coffee in the Keurig. From there, I take my computer, phone, and lap desk out to the porch to savor my morning writing time.
Most days, I also do a little birding in the mornings. I listen as much as I watch. We have two Great Horned Owls who chat over their coffee, too, back and forth across the east side of the farm. I like to try to spot them through my binoculars when the sun is high enough to see through the shadows of the Loblolly Pines. So far, they are winning our game of hide and seek.
The woodpeckers are a different story. They put on a show most mornings. We have Pileated Woodpeckers, Downy Woodpeckers, Hairy Woodpeckers, and Red-Bellied Woodpeckers. I keep watching for a Yellow-Bellied Sapsucker, but they keep not showing up. On any given morning, there are as many as 25 species of birds flitting through the trees, singing, and bringing joy to the start of my day.
The Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds dart around, squabbling over whose feeder is whose and avoid mid-air collisions at every turn, even though I don’t see how. As much as I anticipate the cooler weather of fall, I’ll be sad to see them move on, especially the ones who like to hover two feet from my face – the only birds who take the time to look me in the eye and thank me for the all-you-can-drink nectar. This month, they will begin their migration to Florida for the winter, like so many people who seek the same warmth.
Others are here with us all year and have no travel plans in the coming weeks – the Northern Cardinals, the Carolina Wrens, the Blue Jays, the Tufted Titmouses, and the Mourning Doves. We’ll wave goodbye to our summer guests soon, and stand ready to welcome the whole fold back next spring.
And perhaps it’s a little extra, but I can’t help worrying about my little hummers. I want to pack them a picnic for the trip and ask them to text me when they arrive safely and put a little teeny-tiny GPS tracker on them to see where they go for Christmas.
Somehow, I think they know I’ll be watching and waiting for them from my front porch seat, coffee in hand, ready to greet them next April and celebrate their long-awaited return.
Common Threads 