Birds abide despite bears, brutal times

In a funk. Big time. Times are tough. Brutal. Interesting. Pondering human desire, nothing logical about it. Feeling guilty for feeling depressed. Funny how that works. I’m such a barometer of the times. Suck it up though 2011 sucks. Yeah, the boogie man’s gone but we all know Bin Laden’s death hardly provides a solution. *sigh* So uninspired. Spring fever? What spring? Interminable winter, so cold, I neglected to bring in the bear-attracting bird seed. They’re up from hibernation early this year, as last season wasn’t a good one for berries. I looked out my kitchen window the other day to see our friendly neighbourhood black bear raiding the feeder. They are incredibly agile, despite their massive paws, claws. He handily pulled the pole down and emptied both containers. I put it all in storage, haven’t seen him since. I posted this picture on Facebook and was surprised by the reaction; much fear mongering talk of bear attacks. Sure, it’s within the realm of possibilities, but if I couldn’t co-exist with bears, I’d live the city. I’m more afraid of people.

Maybe my agitation is due to metamorphosis. I’d like to shed a skin, or two. Spread my wings. I read somewhere that “when a creature first emerges from a cocoon, it can feel useless. It is neither what it once was, nor is it fully what it is about to become. It feels lost, bemused, more as if something has been taken from it than something has been given.” That’s me lately; useless. Bemused, but emerging from dormancy, hibernation.

And the sun’s out today, warmer temperatures predicted, the Canucks winning. I’m singing and playing guitar and the boys took me out for dinner. I think the flu and the worst of my allergies may be abating. And I have my birds. Always. I put out the hummingbird feeder and a pair of Rufous buzzed over immediately. In my Vancouver hotel room last week, I sat by the window, eating lunch, admiring the view when a seagull landed on the railing. He lingered, motionless, until I decided to share, put a leftover oatmeal cookie on the balcony. They have snow white feathers, eyes the colour of beets and purple feet. Radiant really, though we don’t usually think of them with any admiration, probably because they’re scavengers. I was astonished at his nimble beak, how he picked up every tiny speck of crumb. Resourceful. Tough. No, I’m not complaining. I have nothing to complain about.

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