Saturday 6/20, early a.m…very, very early…

The souvenir heart says, “It’s never too late to fly.” These days life feels like I am less of a blackbird, however, and more of a Phoenix. Rising from the ashes of burnt bridges. Many, many burnt bridges. I look back over my life and think I must have flown – or run swiftly – over those bridges and took one last, gigantic leap at the end of every naive effort. Don’t look back now. Somehow I landed on my feet again and again and again.

Let’s face it, I had a lot of support. Was it despite my arrogance or because of my determination? Best not ask. We all have our noble indignities. We still believe we can best this process of constant change, of the body’s disintegration. We will outrun it as long as we can. What choice have we as we age? Every morning I say “Thank you” before my feet hit the floor. I stand before I walk, make sure both feet are firmly under me. I am aware of my surroundings before I move forward. I don’t take anything for granted anymore, not even my uprightness.

As many of you will know, I have always had a strong affinity to birds. They show up to me and for me. Years ago driving home from work, I came around a curve and had to brake suddenly for an eagle in the road. Standing in the middle of my lane, looking up at me – perhaps first in fright, but once I had come to a full stop it just stood there. Neither of us moved an iota. It was a back country lane and traffic was unlikely, so I closed my eyes and told it that it was safe now. I would wait with it. I also knew the local rapture rescue to call for emergency help if needed. It stared in at me for a few minutes, then turned in the direction I was headed and took flight, bidding me to follow. Had it just needed a moment? Or did it come to delay me on my way so that I might proceed safely? I certainly proceeded more wide awake.

You might all be tired of hearing me go on about how I’ve been grieving. It has been deeper and lasted longer than I have ever known, and at almost 73 years old, I’m not sure it will ever let go. I won’t ever be the same, that’s for sure. Sitting at my kitchen table Tuesday I was missing my cat. So I spoke to him.Yes, out loud. I told him that I’ve been thinking about moving. “What would you think? I’d have to leave your bones buried out back on the hill.” “I’m not using them.” Hahahaaa…at least he didn’t say “idiot.” At that exact second a hummingbird flew at high speed – right up to the window in front of my face. Like it had been dispatched and told to hurry! I actually jumped up, it came so fast out of nowhere. It stopped an inch from smacking into the window and hovered, looking in at me.

So I Googled “hummingbird spiritual meaning.” “Hummingbirds symbolize joy, resilience, and the sweetness of life. Because they can hover, fly backward, and move with agile precision, they are symbols of emotional healing after periods of grief or stress.” The cat was telling me to move on.

All your life…you were only waiting for this moment to be free.