A Lazy Day

Having been very industrious yesterday as much as humanly possible, I thought today would be similar in output. John and I had deep cleaned half of our bedroom, leaving much more to be desired hanging around on the poorly mopped floor. The carpets needed a complete overhaul too, like me I guess after being stepped on for years. So, my handy husband took them somewhere else to wash them and let them dry outside on a newly swept and washed patio. With that out of the way, John decided to pull my ever-growing stash of crossword magazines out from under the bed and that tattered collection and a few assorted hatboxes of miscellany were left in odd places throughout the room, crunched into corners or shoved under dressers. But I washed the linens and he made the bed, as I was too stooped over after working diligently all afternoon, to actually move. So today seemed like the perfect time to test our endurance and finish the rest of the room. Never happened.
I sat languidly in a chair for most of the morning without any guilt for not rushing around immediately or ever.
My shoulder was out along with my low back and the rest of me didn’t feel so energetic either. Instead of cleaning, I watched the parade of birds outside through the French doors in our family room off of our kitchen. There was such a cacophony this morning of tiny birds everywhere that I heard as I woke up. In the background of course were the crowing roosters, each competing for noisiest of the dawn with bloodied mates since this is the season of cock fighting to see who gets the upper hand over the others. Perhaps they vie for the upper claw. But that’s another story better left unsaid for now. We do have too many roosters. Actually, according to my husband, one is too many.
Back to the parade before me, a couple of roosters that I favor, out of the 20 something roosters that live here, came to the French doors to remind me how hungry they were. One decided to crow about it. Another took a sunbath in a planter. But the dearest one, looked me solemnly in the eyes and then left, a bit disgruntled that I didn’t immediately jump out of my chair to spoil them with the porridge I made this morning for them…that I ate in a bowl with raisins and a spot of brown sugar.
A little later and I noticed the amazing flowers blooming on the kowhai tree that I planted in a large adobe pot years ago and eventually plopped down in a corner of the small patio in front of this family room. There was nothing there when we moved in. Now it’s a rather matted mess and needs a sprucing up but the weather’s battered it viciously. Despite all of that the tree flourished and now I’m sure its roots extend deep into the soil through the bottom of the pot and it stands a little cockeyed, leaning over to avoid the expansive branches of our nearby elm tree. But it is about 20 feet tall and it was covered in little tiny bellbirds today drinking from the bright golden yellow blooms hanging seductively in clumps. It was too much to overlook, so masses of little birdies flocked to these long, pointed flowers that held such rapture for them as they turned upside down to get to the essence inside.
Everything was going hunky dory and I was still looking at the groups that were covering the yellow with their wee grey bodies and lime green tummies. I even tried to capture them on camera but although I might post some of these photos, they are not of my usual standard as I had to take most of them inside through the window glass and the birds move so quickly and they are so small they are very difficult to photograph clearly.
Eventually, I gave up trying to get the perfect shot and I began to read something. Looking away from the food fest at the tree, I heard a thud and realized that one of the teeny birds had flown into the door. Stunned, I jumped up to see the little guy lying on the ground of the step outside, writhing slightly but his neck appeared to be broken, as he seemed unable to lift his head. I ran for John and he opened the door gingerly and picked him up and laid him onto a nearby pot where I thought it had died.
Hours have passed and I peered through the window glass and couldn’t see the little bird’s body in the pot at all. Thinking I must be wrong, I hurried outside to discover it was gone. Somehow the miniature winged warrior flew away and survived the stress of going headfirst into a glass pane at speed.
The moral of this story must be that despite all of our battles and wounds, some of us survive to live and love another day. Whether it’s determination, dumb luck or fate, some of us keep on keeping on.