The diversity of birds that have graced our outdoor space just seems vaster this year: an oriole; a rose breasted grosbeak (who we even got to see take a bath!); cardinals so brilliant and robins galore; sparrows and nuthatches and birds that we don't know the names of yet (one of which did a mating dance right before our eyes!)
The other night while lying in bed I had this delightful thought that maybe the birds were being drawn to the yard by my hair. I know. I don't have any, but we did put remnants of my hair in our three braided birdhouses tied to our Japanese Maple a month or two ago ("we" meaning Matt here.) Karen, who cut my hair, saved some just for this purpose. As she was sweeping it up off of her wooden floor on a late October afternoon she thought, "oh, well the birds just might love this stuff for their nests!" So she gifted my hair back to me and when some space cleared in our bodies and minds and hearts, we remembered. And we acted.
Now, I surely do not know if there are actually more birds in the yard or, if indeed there are, if it is because they were drawn to fragments of my past hair, but I don't think it really matters. What does matter is that my eyes feel more wide open and my heart more curious. And perhaps it is the soul of me that is utterly delighted to sense and consider that the birds flew in for my hair.
