Trippy, A Love Letter

Trippy: A Love Letter Maybe it’s a code, more likely left over, caked in sadness from being left by a parent or having to give up, let go of, give away a being, a soul, a heartbeat, of a a dog actually, who you believed you saved from a life of utter loneliness, and thus if you meet another being in the world A bird A bug A dog A cat It is this responsibility and equal opportunity to do everything possible to make sure that being has the best chance of life. Of living. And so you do. Never ever look away at what is in front of you. This is my love letter to you Trippy, what a remarkable love we have had and I am so sad, devastated really, that it is coming to an end, I thought we would have so many more years together, the last 5 have been magical, calmer, quieter, I think you have been happy, hope so. I think the world gave us COVID so I could spend this last year with you --I had no clue it would be your last. Your last to pounce on catnip leaves Kill mice and put them in your killing field (aka living room table) Play with peacock feathers Play fight with your companion and bestie (YAY!!!), Miss Midnight Sleep beside Miss. Midnight on the couch or chaise. Jump up to wherever I was sitting, you just did that a month ago and then it stopped, Share bacon and ribs with Bruce, a new bestie. Eat Bruce’s tuna before it becomes caked in other accoutrements Head but me again and again and again... Just last week -- doing your back-this-thing-up--so most can just touch/pet you from behind I know it’s your way of easing into love, never front facing, too risky… Things you have taught me… Love really requires patience, because it’s so rare, it requires time and work; get on the ground, same eye-level, try to breathe at the same time, same tempo. Slowly shorten the space between you, even if it takes years and years Make sure that even if you don’t know how to ask, you may want something/need something like shelter, some place to keep you warm, because you are not ready to enter a world with walls and ceilings vs. skys YOu have taught me about entrances, -and that each day is filled with hundreds of them, so make them, exit and re-enter, it will always be new. To survive in this world you need a to make sure you are positioned to see all of it, certain positions allows for that Lower is better than higher; the earth is more comforting than the sky. If you kill something, at least honor it by putting in a place you can revisit time and time again. Even if it’s risky, getting someone to help remove all the burrs from your body will just make you feel better, move better, and sleep, more soundly. You can find a friend, anyplace, anywhere, you just have to be open to them, they may teach you how to live in the word with a little more ease, a little less fear. One thing I have loved the most about you, Trippy, is that --each moment in you life -- was often like a first, --the way you would run into the room each time upon seeing I was here and come to sit with me, first just by my legs and then years later, you jumped up on the couch, thrilled at your accomplishment, your overcoming of a fear or just an unknown. We should live more like you --- how you have loved life, and other beings -- okay cats, except younger male cats (territory issues, I got it),but girl cats, and older male cats-- we should all live the way you do this in world full of possibility and love for the moment in front of you. Everyone - except younger male cats like Wilson or Jasper - is a friend to climb a tree with, explore terrain,lay next to, breathe in unison, same beat, tempo, you just have to let go. What a love/life it has been - you and me--truthfully, one of the most joyous of my life. I will miss you so so much and love you and think of you until the end of my days. Every last breath. Love you. Your person.

Tales From the Front: Last Vestiges of Live Theatre

Even in non pandemic times, shelter in place, wash your hand 20x a day-times, and leave your groceries outside for three days, live theatre, for those that live it, is not an easy sell.
As malleable as it is an artform, those that live in it, use it and those that view it, are several learning-styles apart. And as this new world order sets it, one where gatherings of more than a few might be considered too dangerous for years to come, or proximity of less than 6 feet to someone you don't know or don’t live with or don’t know their body temperature or when the only mask one wears is not a Kabuki mask, but an N95, it is hard to not think that the theatre in all its liveness and touch and immediacy might have to be put on hold. Tabled. Boxed Up. Put on the shelf with other artifacts of liveness: music festivals, parades, art fairs, rodeos, marathons sporting events and pub crawls.

I hope not. I wish on all the stars, and all the pennies I find, and of course disinfect ( according to John Hopkins it takes 4 hours for the COVID molecules on copper to disintegrate - ‘are pennies even copper anymore?’) that theatre in all its ephemeralness, lives.

In case it (theatre) is put on hiatus or temporarily has to transform its aesthetic into a zoom-like singular, closeup face only form, wanted to capture a couple final days of a life in theatre, before the curtain fell, or rather after I received the directive from my job and governor of a state of emergency and to stock up (e.g. catnip, cat grass, hummus) and head home.

Vestige #1 -A college improvisation class. Ypsilanti, MI (Eastern Michigan University)
Tuesday, March 10th we were 9 weeks in. The class met once a week, in the evening for three hours. The students enrolled are not necessarily theatre majors but instead reflect a broad range of identities, ideas and interests. The essence of this improvisation class is simply the practice of being present, of living or being more fully in a moment in order to move action/life forward, versus sideways or backwards.

And, thus in many ways, this time, these days, are made for the improviser, or really, for an improvisation mindset. A mindset that asks us to:
Surrender to the loss of control (you exercise more control this way)
adapt to the unexpected.
Give and take (equally, really)
Accept what is offered
Make the strange familiar and the familiar strange
and to not get too attached to an outcome.

In this class, our unknowingly last in-person class, we were practicing the improvisation rule ‘be a passenger’ . (Side-Bar: Like many of these improvisation rules, or rules for living more fully in a moment, I have acquired them over years. Some are from the very first improvisation class in high school (1985? 1986) via Second City, and some are from practitioners such Keith Johnstone, Michael Rohd or simply inspired by a Liz Lerman exercise, and some are just a result of being in the world/work)

So, the class. And here is the vestige to capture, laminate.

Almost three hours in we are building to activities that are more presentational, allow for more choice and thus for some, more risk. This final activity, which I call A/B/C flow is in many ways your standard sketch improv activity.

Two people (A & B) start a scene based upon a couple given variables; circumstance, relationship and as the scene progresses, another person(C) enters into the scene, inspired by a movement, a phrase (it’s open) and changes it, changes its current reality into something else. Once the person enters and changes the reality, person A has to find a legitimate/(relevant to the scene) reason to leave this scene, this reality and the whole flow starts again.

What proved challenging for several individuals was changing the reality and finding a relevant reason to leave. So, what is being practiced here? Adaptation? For sure. Acceptance of whatever is offered? Letting go of where you were? Absolutely. To make these moments work, everyone in these realities has to be a passenger, and not a passive passenger, a passenger who not just adapts, but accepts whatever path is put forth. I’m grateful that our last live time together, however fortuitous, had us practicing entrances and exits, and the moments in between in all their unpredictability and possibility.


Vestige #2 -Vital: A Fugue on Aging, an ethnographic theatre piece, Buffalo, NY -Faith Leaders Convening, Thursday, March 12th

This piece of theatre, with an ensemble of four actors, has been performed many times for many communities and in several different towns/cities. It was a commissioned project, based on a qualitative study of Vulnerable Seniors and Caregivers in Washtenaw County, Michigan by Abbie Lawrence-Jacobson. The study lays out, through the voices of actual people, the complexity of caregiving particularly for those who have less resources or economic mobility but not exclusively. Most notably it reveals many often unspoken truths and realities on the burdens, the bravery and the heartache of caregivers and their drive to care and give to those they love.

The performance is intended to reflect the challenges of caregiving for older adults in that it is chaotic and disruptive, and in other moments, solitary It is also poly-vocal like a fugue (many voices contributing to a whole), presentational, (the focus is out in the audience and not towards each other). There are voices of those who care give for those whose memories have faded, those who care at the expense of their own health, those who choose medicine over food, elder orphans , who have no ties to anyplace or anyone, and embodied tableaux of various caregiving: coordinated, pathwork and multi-directional. And at the end of each ‘fugue’ there is an audible breath. Sometimes the breath is resolve, sometimes, it’s a cry and sometimes it is strength. In another performance, an audience member noted the use of breath in a piece about aging as ‘heartbreaking’ . Breath is life and death.

This performance. We performed Vital: A Fugue on Aging, following a COVID Update by an infectious disease doctor. Yet, nothing in Buffalo had been closed, there were no cases, no one was social distancing, there was a ‘grazing table’, yet there was a sense of foreboding, it was palatable.

Audiences have been immensely present and also very quiet, the piece seems to fosters a lot of internal dialogue, that said, I witnessed a lot of nodding and mutterings through the performance. There were a great deal of men of color in this audience and they seemed rapt as the stories of aging and caregiving unfolded. The theatre piece is both affirmational and transformational, affirming to those whose own stories of caregiving have rarely been told and transformational to those who may be on the cusp of a similar path.

After this performance, a pastor (maybe in his late 60’s, early 70’s..?) approached me. He thanked me for the work and said it was necessary, but in truth it made him, ‘feel scared. Fear for my family. Are they ready? I need to remember that. I need to talk to them. Thank you.’ We did a pantomime hug.

In this last vestige of live theatre, where thoughtful, giving actors’ gave voice to those who in non-pandemic circumstances struggle to be heard and cared for, I’m grateful that this piece might have been a little light, before such darkness.

The Aging of a Murderer

Before Uno’s meow sounded like smoke, before her nails grew so thick to make a clicking sound on the wooden floor, before her body became a bag of bones, she was a murderer. And quite a skilled one. Slight, fast and fearless, Uno did not discriminate. A Starling, a Grackle, a baby squirrel, mice, and hundreds of house sparrows or chickadees* would arrive at the doorstep, a porch, or sentimentally part buried in dirt. Mind you she had a collar and a warning bell so anything she killed was a little slow or already maimed, or deaf.

When it came to birds, however she was not like those who kill for play she killed to eat, munch and crunch---half-eaten birds were strewn about intended (I believe) to send me a message, “Person, who saved me from the colds of Michigan, the Toms who wanted to violate me, just a note –I prefer poultry over fish, thank you.”
Uno the only gray in a world of black fur, was demanding, using her paw to literally slap me awake in the morning. Though she was part of a large cat colony in the beginning of her life –she had no interest in making feline friends. Uno, ranging in weight from 8 to 9lbs in her early years, was highly aggressive towards other cats (and even raccoons) swatting them if they come near her or her food, running them out of her ‘territory’ or perching in order to display dominance.

Eventually Uno aged or mellowed or her aging mellowed her and her kills or desire to kill were less frequent. The perching of a bird did not throw her into overdrive, the wiggle of a worm did not push her into attack mode, she was less curious, less driven, and just seemed more tired--maybe that is aging, the lessening of our spirit, the quieting of our true selves, or surrendering to what is…

The Uno @ 20 is so different from the Uno of her youth and teens. Everything I knew or understood about her: how she likes to sleep (near my legs on a bed), what she eats (chicken in gravy), her places of comfort (high up) to where she likes to be pet is completely unknown. There is very little consistent about her behavior except its inconsistency –how can you tell if she is struggling or uncomfortable since everything she does or acts is new? It is true that aging is an ending but it’s remarkably like our beginnings, where everything is new and we are at our most vulnerable.

My Papa died in his 80’s, full of Parkinson’s, slowing his already slow and soft demeanor. Like many with Parkinson’s the body is the ultimate betrayal, shaking and disintegrating, but keeping the mind unusually attentive. It is a cruel, paradoxical disease. But what if your disease, your sickness (as in Uno) is just aging, what then?
Aging might bring about wisdom or for some a reckoning, but it’s mostly very unjust---stripping away all that is known and replacing it with all unknowns to the self and others. There seems to be little grace as the universe chips away at your being: diffusing your ability to hear (so you do not know if there are predators about), or hindering your body to jump, or your mouth to chew…

There is no shot or infusion or treatment that can quell the disease of aging. The only thing you can do when you age I guess is… live. So she does.

*Uno’s murdering spree led me ironically to being a backyard birder; I felt I should probably know whom she is killing. Chipping Sparrows seemed to be a preference followed by house finches and house sparrows.

Hummingbird in Holding Pattern

It had been a long time since Hummingbird had written in her Feather Book. Complacency was the worst kind of ailment. In the Big Bird book of knowledge, complacency was known to cut off blood, love & idea flow and it was also the leading cause of bird deaths by cat.

It wasn’t that there were not 1000 thoughts fluttering through her tiny brain --there were always. But the want? The energy? To put on the page? To take her quail quill and etch them in the sandy dirt near the feeders? The motivation to express and even to experience had waned.

Was it age? Some kind of seasonal disorder? Her diet? Her flanks were consistently achy. Her skin patchy. And her crop (where she digested her nectar) was always rumbling, unsettled. There was this weird mix of complacency sprinkled with havoc..

Okay, part of it definitely was age. Hummingbird, who only slept approximately 2.5 hours a day, filled the rest of it with fluttering and chirping and chirping and fluttering. It did not matter if such acts were performed alone—chirping and fluttering were not used to just socially engage they were her being, her essence. Yet lately Hummingbird found herself sleeping 3 hours a day, sometimes even 3.5 and upon waking to this discovery—--she would fly into a panic, “Squawk! I have missed 30 minutes of the world today, this is tragic. Life is not for dreaming it’s for doing.” And off she would go searching for new flowers, flapping over new terrain, and trying new fly twists and turns.

And where was Cardinal in all this? Well, Cardinal was very much still in the big picture, but in the little picture, the everyday snapshots, the candids he was elsewhere. Cardinal, a master nest-builder and operator spent his weekdays in another latitude, a long way away. He always returned regardless of rain, snow, winds and other flight delays to spend weekends with her and his friends and family. And she welcomed these returns though admittedly it took a moment to reconnect, to figure out how her wing fit in his, to shift from her more solitary existence to one of a shared time and space.

"If we lived in the same nest, it would be much easier." Cardinal would consistently sing. Yet, his nest still had sticks and twigs of a former life (holding it together), and her nest was filled with well, just stuff, part-hoarder and part-hoper, Hummingbird to no surprize lived a scattered existence. How much of the past to discard in order to move into the future? Hummingbird, always in a perpetual state of worked-uppedness (it's her biology, after all) felt that if in order for there to be a shared nest there had to be planning, troubleshooting, "we have one shot" she squeaked to Cardinal, "and we have to consider everything so it can withstand even the strongest of storms."

The fact that there was some bird in her life she even wanted to nest with was significant, but she worried that her fears (of change? of judgement? of failure? of moving into someone's nest and feeling like a visitor) would overwhelm any flight of possibility. Hummingbird knew that some birds never even get to have such an existential crisis that many birds never make it to a place of love, having been thrown from trees, swallowed up by storms or worse suffering from some malady (like head mites) delaying or denying their ability to fly, explore and live.

And as the days grew shorter and colder, decisions would need to be made as change (like the seasons) was afoot, and thus something would have to happen in order for Hummingbird and Cardinal, a love story for the ages to continue and thrive.

Hummingbird & Cardinal...The Color of Love

Of the many realizations Hummingbird had had over the 14 plus seasons with Cardinal she flew in a perpetual state of urgency. Where Cardinal’s flight was calm and quiet, Hummingbird’s was often chaotic. She flew motivated by what could be, what could occur, “What if there is a heat wave and it dries up all the flowers? What if someone gets all the Delphinium nectar before me (she had a very sensitive small intestine and that was one of the only flowers which didn’t puff her up)? What if? What if? What if?

Cardinal on the other hand lived particularly for the moment consistently focusing on what is rather than what was or could be. “Here is a great opportunity for nesting—it’s shady and sturdy and millipede-free. Here is where we are so let’s slurp up…the here…now. “

Cardinal was a present tenser; she was more of a futurer. Such attitudes were less a result of socialization but of biology, or ecology. Cardinal was a constant, never really a visitor always a native to whatever lands, feeders or backyards he flew to; he lived with a sense of certainty. Hummingbird, migratory by nature, was always in a state of temporary.

As their lives together merged (in the past years Hummingbird’s family and Cardinal’s family shared seeds and stories at the annual Fall Harvest) their differing temperaments became more and more evident. Hummingbird sensing that a storm was coming would anxiously begin to prepare herself, start stocking up on seeds and nectar in preparation of what might be. Cardinal also sensing the same storm would wait until its near arrival and then begin the process of preparing. Hummingbird would worry, Cardinal would wait. How to love and live together when one is a ‘waiter’ and one is a worrier? Could they do it? 14 seasons in they slept in each others' nests, but maintained their own. To get to 15 seasons and 16 and 18 and forever what would it take to make a nest of their own?

Was that what had to be done? Hummingbird wasn’t so sure she knew, but knew they needed something. Complacency was for the birds, just not these birds. Maybe she would leave some of her feathers at his nest? Maybe they could etch their names together in old Oak? Maybe they could compose their own song? Maybe all of these things. Even to a present tenser like Cardinal moving forward required might require a visioning of what could be.

So.. on a recent flight, Cardinal proposed a detour and they ended up in what looked like to Hummingbird a rainbow factory. In it there were hundreds of liquid colors, all shades. You could pick blue so bright it made the sky look sad or you could pick a yellow so light it made the sun scream. Cardinal said to Hummingbird,
“I want to give you, give us something that says we are together regardless of where we are and who we are. Something that shows others and you that we aren’t just two birds from different flocks, but our own unique flock. We’ll pick two colors one that reflects me and one that reflects you. We’ll dip our wings in each of those colors to symbolize our, ‘us’, to say to everyone, we blend. This way wherever we are we have a little bit of the other with us at all times.”

Hummingbird known to talk and talk even to herself for hours was silent. To have Cardinal’s colors on hes wing and her colors on his wing made their love a little more secure for some reason. It made Hummingbird simply feel...loved. Wing paint able to withstand even the greatest of rain, sleet and snow. To Cardinal it was a guarantee of sorts, color saying what is hard to say for a present tenser, "I'm here today and tomorrow and the next tomorrow."


And as the season began to shift so would their plans, Cardinal would be temporarily flying elsewhere and Hummingbird would decide whether to migrate, fly with Cardinal or stay in the world of gray without her constant, her Cardinal. But here…now in this factory of color, they made a promise to each other. Crimson and emerald paints colored their wings as they flew together into the next season and beyond.

Hummingbird & Cardinal...12 Seasons

It had been three years or 12 seasons, since Hummingbird and Cardinal had laid their leaf pads next to each other at the wing-stretch class.

As their time together increased and the new love fervor decreased Hummingbird would find herself replaying the narrative of how they met over and over again.

Hummingbird—I would always go to wing-stretch class, sure to stretch wings and hold poses but I really went to find moments of stillness. It’s so hard for me to just be still sometimes…

Cardinal- I had heard about the wing-stretch class and living in a four season world can take its toll on even a robust body like mine. Because I’m a seeder, I hunch over and it makes my upper vertebrae very tight. I also heard there was some 'color' at the class.

Hummingbird – We had been sitting next to each, barely chirping. Sometimes, I would try to get my breath to be thee same tempo as Cardinal’s. His was measured and calm and mine was/is still frenetic .

A month or so into their shared class, leafs touching, eyes closed (they were in the stillness pose, not Hummingbird’s strength)Hummingbird just...knew. She knew/felt through every vertebrae that this crimson colored constant would be part of her life for seasons to come. What it looked like or sounded like she did not know. All hummingbird knew was that when she was in Cardinal’s presence her usual 80 wing-beats-a-second would become 200-wing-beats-a-second. Cardinal made her heart race.

12 seasons later, a couple ones where flowers bloomed really late and Hummingbird was unable to find nectar, they were still together. In those frozen seasons, Cardinal would dig deep to find fruit pieces and seeds for Hummingbird often mixing them together in a smoothie-like concoction. Hummingbird treasured these meals, Cardinal eating some seed or bugs (he never mixed carbs and proteins) and Hummingbird slurping the smoothie. It was a blended life.

Mornings. Evenings. In-betweens. Sometimes they would go days without seeing each other. He might need to travel to other yards and lands for food or nest twigs, she may need to find a sun spot, or someplace where flowers still sing. Even in those days apart they would call each other. Cardinal’s succinct, ‘chirp, chirp, chirp’ and Hummingbird’s non-stop buzz could be heard across clouds even as dusk fell.
Hearing Cardinal chirp would be all Hummingbird needed to close her eyes and dream. She knew this was love, real love. It didn’t worry her, make her clench her beak, obsess that much about her bony appearance and bulky brain (Hummingbird was mostly brain, 4.2% of her body weight, the largest proportion in the bird kingdom.),and unlike other loves in her life (the Sunflower, the Hydrangea) they didn’t curl up and leave at the end of a season. Cardinal stayed.


For Cardinal, a life with Hummingbird gave him the backbone to travel farther…to maybe fly higher. Having her song in the back of his head was all he needed to fly father and faster. Maybe a strength beneath his wings.

So as they marked their 12th season together finding the sunniest spot in the yard to lay Hummingbird and Cardinal contemplated their future together. Would they share a nest in the near future? Would they have cardinal hums? Would he make her smoothies so she didn’t have to spend all day and night searching for flowers? What would be their path? They ultimately did not know, but what they did know is that when they closed their eyes and dreamt about tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, they saw each other in those dreams. Cardinal and Hummingbird, constant and chaos, might just make it to forever.

Hummingbird's Year

A year had passed before Hummingbird could even name her yearly resolutions.

• Fly at least 33 mph 5x times a week to tone up
• Explore different foods sources such as a nectar feeder
• Visit Hum family in lands of warmer air
• Organize nest
• Try and spend more time at Cardinal's
• Pause

Few if any of these were accomplished. Where did the year go? What did she do?
As she entered her third year with Cardinal things were strong. Their time together was constant and consistent. She awoke, made a nectar latte, did some half-moon and wing stretches, and then began her daily work of humming, flying and deflowering. Sometimes mid-day she would hear from Cardinal, a chirp across yards, or maybe a seed a message left on earth as she made her way from garden to garden.
“What up, Hum? How’s the slurping? I just had an amazing fried sunflower seed. See u 2nite. Luv u.“

Each night before she went to sleep she either heard from Cardinal or saw him; her constant, was constant. Certainly sometimes they went out with other bird couples, some inter-breeds, some same’rs . Other times they might be adventurous and travel to a whole other eco-system, but most of the time they stayed in their terrain. This constancy gave Hummingbird a sense of something. Maybe freedom? Maybe security? Maybe freedom as a result of security? Having someone to fly with, to nest with gave her a sense of ease, of peace. But did it also stagnate her? Make her less willing to fly fast? To fly backwards even?

That seems a little unjust. For the first time in Hummingbird’s little life she breathed (though still super fast) with a certainty . There was another bird who loved her despite her frenetic flightiness. Hummingbird with Cardinal in tow would often have to backtrack as she would leave a feather, her seed pouch, or forget where she made her nest, etc.. Cardinal would calm her as she desperately searched for her nest..

Hummingbird: I swear, I swear I made it next to this elm!
Cardinal: Okay..are you sure, maybe that was last year’s nest.
Hummingbird: No,last year’s was in more of a willow!
Cardinal: I think you wanted to be next to sunflowers this year…so let’s check those out.
Hummingbird: Maybe the wind took it.

And that is how many days would end, Hummingbird searching for something she lost or left behind and Cardinal calming her hyped up self. It was in these moments that ‘she’ became a ‘they’ as they located her moss-covered nest full of trinkets and treasures left-over from her pre-Cardinal life. This dichotomy of something so constant and secure searching for something that was ephemeral, fleeting, always changing was intense. Hummingbird thrived a little on chaos sprinkled with a little despair but with Cardinal such sensations were muted.
With Cardinal the unfixable became fixable, the lost became found, and fires dissolved into smoke.

Maybe that is the story of this year, the rolling stone meets the mountain and there Hummingbird just settled finding her place amid strength and equanimity.

Hummingbird Finds Peace

Hummingbird didn’t mind that Cardinal would often make the plans.

“Tonight we are going to the Robins and tomorrow we are going to hang out with the Sparrows."
"The Sparrows?!" Hummingbird hummed cautiously
“The White-Crowned not the House Sparrows, no worries, “ Cardinal preened his tightly cropped crimson crown. (too tight if you ask Hummingbird, which he rarely did).

Hummingbird grinned. She rarely worried with Cardinal in her life or rather her worries were considerably less with Cardinal in her sphere. Given that she spent most days, all day humming and flitting and humming and flitting to have someone else chart her course, whip up some nectar nuggets or direct the evening flight was glorious. Hummingbird’s life was hectic; trying to find fruit in an almost frozen tundra was exhausting. Certainly, Hummingbird could go South or West someplace where flowers bloom year round and fruit was plentiful, but then she wouldn’t have a life with Cardinal, and it was a life she loved.

Theirs was a life in which she rarely thought of what was or what should be. All the loneliness of her past flights was distant memory. It was amazing how one bird could be so strong as to absolve all of her past beak-breaks. This was astounding to her. Most of her life was a frenetic frenzy, everyday Hummingbird had to eat more than her actual body weight just to survive. She was always humming hurriedly, "What next? I just slurped up a sunflower shake but what now? “ Yet, with Cardinal Hummingbird knew she would never starve, and never be cold for very long. He was sustenance and warmth rolled into one.

Some days she would arrive at his nest, her feathers in flux, frizzy even and waiting for her, grilled by the noon-day sun a fly steak with a side of berries, he gathered at the foot of some feeder. One would love anyone who basically made everyday survival easier & less anxious, but Cardinal was more than just a port in a storm, he was Hummingbird’s peace.

Hummingbird: flitty, frantic, hyper and high-strung what could she give to her cautious and caring Cardinal? Hummingbird hummed…a lot, was that enough? She couldn’t really cook (her long beak got in the way), she could nest, but not with the same detail and design like Cardinal..so what to give to the ‘calmness’ in her life?
So Hummingbird gave Cardinal the only thing she knew to give…a window to other worlds.

Cardinal, a ground feeder and seeder never really looked beyond the immediate tree, such exploration wasn’t necessary or so he thought until he met Hummingbird.
Hummingbird would take him (on the nights he didn’t plan) to a Hum Out, where all types of birds flocked together and performed original chirps. They participated in Bird Parades, helped out birds whose nests had been destroyed in storms or due to arborist arson, and even conversed with the transient and volatile blackbirds that would occasionally show up in their terrain. Food and warmth meet worldly wonders.

It was a life. As predictable certain areas of their life had become, their life together continued (at least to Hummingbird) to feel new and untapped, sorta like a fountain finally allowed to release its water for the entire world to see.

Cardinal & Hummingbird: A Full 4 Seasons

It was a year. Cardinal and Hummingbird. Hummingbird and Cardinal. Birds of a feather. Flying most days and nights…together. Their first flights were as expected…jumpy, Cardinal continuously rubbing his wings together, nervous of the new friend…new flight. And Hummingbird equally nervous desperately trying to be still. To take it all in. To not fear what could be. She could often be heard humming to herself, "believe it or not, I’m walking on air, I thought I never could feel so free-eeee!”

Rituals evolved: a late-night bird squawk; beak rubs and feather scratches; midday bird-beak texts written on sandy ground; recordings of bird sounds (his favorite were actually the softer and soother sounds like those of Squiggly Backs or Chipping Sparrows or House Finches, not those of Grackles and Starlings); a breaking of seed, and a weekend catch-up full of tales of past and present:

Hummingbird: (present) You would not believe what that bird from Utah did?
Cardinal: Did she comment on how your flight is energetic and …sexy?
Hummingbird: Um…well, actually, yes, but in a perverse, back-handed, judgmental and insecure way…

Hummingbird: (past) When you were with your siblings….
Cardinal: Don’t remember.
Hummingbird: Nothing?
Cardinal: Nope.
Hummingbirds: Well, nothing about your nest-mates, flight-school..nothing?
Cardinal: I remember I don’t remember.

Sometimes, they would take long flights to other towns and other territories visiting friends or family. On some of these travels in great part, because Hummingbird could not handle silence the way she couldn’t handle stillness, she would make up games.

"Okay so…Cardinal tell your Top 5 dwellings." And somewhat begrudgingly (but not really) Cardinal would share his: Top 5 Dwellings (all were nests but different views).

Hummingbird would ask lots of Top 5 Lists filling space, creating connections.
“Okay, Top 5 Seeds” (Cardinal loved sunflower the best, with white proso millet not far behind. Hummingbird was more of a nectar, sugar-water lover, they rarely shared food); “Top 5 Stretches ,” (Cardinal-Pigeon Stretch, Hummingbird- Full Locust Pose); “Top 5 Hopes & Dreams”

Hummingbird:
• Find some stillness
• Write a bird-book
• Maybe have a bird or beast sanctuary for the left-behind, the bruised and the broken
• Have a life-long wing-man
• Maybe create (by dropping seed) gardens of flowers in places where there were none
Cardinal:
• live near the water
• make sure to have enough of a seed stash to get thru season-after-season
• make sure those closest to him are able to create their own nests, their own stories
• start a new Bird Business (Infinity Seed – Never a Shortage!!)

Cardinal struggled with the last one. In Hummingbird’s small, but mighty mind (or was it heart?) she was hoping he might say “find a permanent life-flight partner”, or.. or.. maybe he might say “share the seasons with a Hummer” or…

That’s the thing about Cardinal. Lately, he was about the now. The present. The thought of other nests and other flight patterns were not part of his workout plan. And understandable. Cardinal was leaving one life and shifting into another. Still, when Cardinal laid his head on Hummingbird’s heart or when their wings would touch mid-flight or when after a night of ‘birds & bees’ they would lie together in peace and ease, she secretly hoped for...forever.

Her dad, a hummingbird of a different generation who hummed opera and preened his feathers with tree sap so they were sleek and shiny, would say to her, “Love you. FAOD. Forever and one day”.

So, as Cardinal & Hummingbird began their second summer together, Hummingbird let her dad’s words be the guide. “One day, each day, might lead to forever."

And with that Hummingbird began to sun her self under the early morning light, waiting for Cardinal to call.