The calm after the storm.
As I look out the basement library window, I see bright sunshine. What a difference compared to Friday's Nor'easter. A view out this same window yesterday yielded driving snow and freezing rain, accompanied by howling winds. The above being said, still the neighborhood birds gathered in the corner bush, awaiting food from inside our warm home. I did my duty -- or what I've made my duty -- by feeding them, walking upon the snow-covered, wet earth to deliver their food. It's a process I follow 2 or 3 times a day, because they rely on me. And, to an extent, I also rely on them. It makes me happy when I see them waiting for me, singing as I approach the feeder, and pecking away as I retreat to my deck. It's a wonderful respite from my freelancing work. The above "warm" inside our house turned to "chilly" after 5:00 PM Friday as many in the area lost power for over 10 hours. When it finally came back on at 3:30 AM this morning, I arose and made sure all in the house was in good operating order and, since I was awake, up and around, decided to fill the birdfeeder early, therefore enabling me to go back to sleep, and they provided a "meal" following their slumber. I walked through the dark, side yard, and it was much colder than I thought. As I poured fresh water into the birdbath, I pondered that if anyone saw me, driving by or just peeking from a nearby window, what they would think or must be thinking, seeing me outside braving the chill at such an early hour, obviously attending to something along the side of our home. I at that moment recalled a story that I have often heard about a man walking along a shoreline who, seeing a starfish far away from the waves, picks it up and tosses it towards the sea, then watches it gathered in by the surf and returned "home." When questioned about it by a passerby, who said (not verbatim) that "...it's just one starfish, what does it matter?" The man responds calmly, "True, but it matters that THAT starfish." So, really, it matters to these little birds, and the occasional red cardinal I see sitting on the barren branches, always waiting for me. And it matters to me, too; it's part of my love amidst my acreage of Heaven. No matter the hour. Steve
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Steve Sears is a New Jersey based freelance writer
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