A Softness That Hugged Me

When I opened the curtains this morning, a tufted bluebird was in my birdbath.

He wasn't delicately dipping a wing into the water. He was splashing up a storm. What a hoot.

Naturally, I wanted a picture.

But by the time I got the blinds open, found the camera, and got myself situated, he was gone.

I did go outside and scatter some birdseed afterward, hoping he might come back. He did not, but a mourning dove eventually wandered down and strolled around. 

And then, of course, there are the squirrels.

They've become quite an institution around here.

There are now four of us who feed the squirrels and have sworn an oath to deny any knowledge should Management catch on. We've begun talking about the squirrels as though they were neighborhood pets. 

There's Little Girl, who has a habit of lying completely flat on her belly.

There was Skinny Tail, the teenager who did an astonishing amount of damage to my plants. I think he may have plumped up because I can't identify him anymore.

And there's another repeat beggar with a smashed, almost pug-like nose and more white on his feet. I haven't named him yet.

Give me time. 

And, yeah, we are all suckers. 

I was looking out at all of this this morning - the birdbath, the birds, the squirrels, my plants - and had one of those thoughts that sneaks up on you:

Would my life be nearly as contented without this garden?

It's not a grand garden. It's a little patch of green outside my window. But something is always going on out there. Something blooming. Something digging where it shouldn't. Something needing water. Something landing unexpectedly in the birdbath and making me scramble for a camera.

I didn't get that picture.

But I did get a glorious morning with a warmth and softness that hugged me.

Happy Sunday.