Bird Rescue

I think I've mentioned before the active bird life of our current dwelling place. There are many mature trees in our neighborhood, and they house anything from owls, hummingbirds, mockingbirds, to our beloved cooing mourning dove that we wake to each dawn and hear each evening from either our backyard telephone pole, or the lines directly in front of our house. It is a sound both soothing and routine now.
The other evening, the children and I were listening to music in my bedroom while Chris was away at one of his music engagements, when a tap came at the window and a whistle. I opened the shades to find our rough around the edges next door neighbor, Stan. He was wide-eyed and excitedly telling us about a scuffle with our dove (which Harmony, my daughter, has lovingly named Mac) and a red-tailed hawk. I ran out, and found Mac hiding himself within a thorned bush a couple houses away. The hawk waited on the branch of a nearby tree for his moment to swoop down once again and finish the job he had begun on it's prey.
I couldn't let nature take it's course this time. Mac was our friend! I reached into the bush, and took Mac gently out and placed him in a shoe box that I had told Jude to run and get. When I looked down at my hands, there was blood on them.
We brought the shoe box with the wounded dove into our house and I called my mom, the advanced bird-savior expert (ha), I call her Saint Franci of Assisi, because she has the tenderest heart towards nature and animals, and because her name is Franci. She advised to get a dropper, fill it with water and attempt to bring the poor hurt thing out of its shock by giving it water.
We also read that putting some apple cider vinegar in the water can be antibiotic for birds, so later I did that as well. I texted my husband about what had happened, knowing his heart towards creatures of the air as well. There happened to be, at his gig, an animal doctor who, when he read my text aloud to his small crowd, told him to tell me, put the thing back outside because it's cruel to interfere with the circle of life, both to the dove and the hawk. I responded that there was no possible way I could do that, after all, it was MAC!
I peeked at the wound, under Mac's wing, a wound which looked pretty bad to me. I put some Neosporin on it and gently rubbed it in, and wrapped the bird in a cloth. We left him alone to recuperate. Chris got home around 10pm, and the children were in bed by then. We sat on the front porch sipping wine and wondering what to do, discussing if we should try to take him to an emergency vet, or what the animal doctor had said, or what, we did not know. All along, I was praying, and hoping the dove would make a full recovery and not die from shock or the wound.
We put on dove sounds on youtube, wondering if it would encourage the little creature. He looked all about, searching for his mate, and then suddenly! Fluttered up to the tree in our front yard, sat there a moment, and promptly plopped to the grassy ground below. It was crazy! We looked at each other amazed at how it could have been so driven to find its love, even being so hurt.
We finally placed Mac back in the shoe box, open, but gently wrapped in the towel, so if he lived, he could fly easily away without being stuck. We went inside, me crying, at the beauty and sadness of it all, and went to bed.
The next morning, Sunday, I awoke to Chris throwing on clothes, and I was confused as it was his only day to sleep in. "What are you doing, honey?!" I asked. "I got a song in my dream, it was about my dad. I have to... write it down before I lose it." Ahh. I understood his cryptic message perfectly, he gets dreams with songs in them....it is a type of lovely gift he has.
As I lay there waiting to hear for the dove to coo or not, Harmony came into my room and asked about "Birdie"..."Is birdie okay?" "I don't know, but we can't disturb daddy to see right now. Let's look out the blinds." So, right as I opened the blinds, we saw an amazing sight! One dove was flying from the direction of the tree, the other the telephone pole, and they met in the air, and flew on top of each other for a moment, and landed. Harmony and I looked at each other in awe, then I flew out to the living room, half doubting what I'd seen, and wondering if there was some slim chance that there were more than just Mac and his mate in this neighborhood. I walked slowly up to the shoe box, which had the cloth poking all about, and I couldn't tell if there was anything in it or not."Please let it be empty." I prayed. I pulled back the cloth, and sure enough..empty! Chris came up behind me and with moist eyes, we said,"That's a miracle." He was so hurt! And there he was, above us, with his mate, cooing his tranquil sound. We stood mesmerized.
It just all seemed so symbolic somehow. The hawk, representing war. The dove, standing for peace. Driven by love. And life, all winning. It was too much for these green, tender hearts to bear without tears and sighs of awe.
Chris's song lyrics intertwine the story of the dove with the injured wing, and rising from darkness into light and life.
I cannot tell you how grateful I am for such an amazingly artistic and sensitive musician I happened to fall into love with, and am living my life with! It's all, just, almost too much goodness to bear. The lines have truly fallen for us in pleasant places. Psalm 16

Bed

The bed symbolizes a place of nurturing, a place where dreams are hatched and good things are able to thrive. It's a place where things flourish and we pour into richly. It can even be a sanctuary.
 It's a place of sanctification, or where dark motives lie. We can tenderly partake of intimacy there, or we can tap into the lusts of our depraved minds. We can rest, or we can toss and turn.
The mind either spirals down into a soft slumber or spins into a whirling dervish of thoughts we cannot seem to turn off. Minds that spew accusations of previous affairs or carelessly uttered words; Hurt and things we could have done instead.
 My mind goes down a staircase when I lie my head on cushioned pillow, one of the unfolding of events from my day, my life, my hidden self. Who I truly am is exposed to me and the undulating cover of night. Visions, pictures, voices, all heard with sharper clarity, in the curve of the mattress and shield of quilt.
 Many a day spent toiling or attempting to figure out my next move was calculated effortlessly under a ceiling sheathed by stars and crescent moon hovering just outside my window. It is where peace can fall on our hearts like veils of satin on closed lids or where the poisoned daggers of wrongs done and secrets withheld can pierce painfully.
 It is my opinion that dreams can be quite meaningful and telling of what we are experiencing internally as well as externally. They can refresh, excite, inspire or petrify. In the dark, with the dim glow of streetlights illuminating shadows on the walls, our imaginations are at their finest. But also, the silence that surrounds us is a potential birthing place of magical imagery. Clarity stems from the river of REM.
 I am not a slothful person by trait, I do not spend longer hours than necessary under bed sheets lazing about, but when I am there, in the solace of my bed, next to my quietly snoozing soul mate, I fully soak in the sweetness of all that dances around me. Especially the prayers sent up into galaxies beyond our own, being inevitably listened to by angels' ears and a thoughtful god.
 The bed is a place of poetry, written in the forgetful pages of my subconscious but engraved on the essence of who I am and what I do. It's where meditation can be most astutely applied in the recesses of my mind.

Garden Bed: A place where one plants their seeds, waters, weeds, prunes, gathers the growth and feasts. Digging hands like shovels into dark, fertile soil. Therapy in the green vitality of life.

Marriage Bed: A sacred place of intimacy, rest, and tranquility. Where one lays solitary repose, or entangles limbs and hearts with somebody.