Finally,
I understand how the bird feels
I can’t be in its shoes
It doesn’t wear any
That metaphor doesn’t work
Birds do have feet though.
 
I flap my wings 
Cold, cold, cold
No chicks to keep warm
No fledglings to teach
How to fly
No need for more straw and twigs
The building is done
They tested their own wings
I didn’t need to push them 
Out of the nest.
 
My nest is empty
This metaphor works
How did this happen?
The building materials were strong
Promising life-time warranty
For the nest and its inhabitants.
 
Every bird in my birdbath
The face of the children
I invite them in
I call them *baba and baby
Speak to them in my native tongue
They look at me quizzically
They are just birds
They do what birds do
They fly away.
 
All I want
is to fill my nest
Again.
‘Shall we adopt?’
I ask my husband.
He tells me I haven’t changed
Since our second chick ‘hatched’
I always wanted a third one
He tells me to have different dreams
A healthy dose of reality might help.
My nest is empty
Meanwhile there’s a magpie
Building a nest in the eaves
Just outside my kitchen window
I’m comforted when I hear the tapping
Birds possess more intuition and empathy
Than we think.
 
It seemed to sense
I had an empty nest
can’t think of another reason why 
Its gracious choice of building a home 
So close to my home
Birds understand loss.
 
We will be back to being 
Two turtle doves at Christmas.
 
*baba and baby are terms of endearment used in India for children
                        

Beyond the orange-red trees 
Summer gently turns away
The red also from the smoke-covered sun
The color henna turns in my hair when dry.
 
We’ve had everything from bobcats to skunks, bears
Even a cougar, spotted but not caught.
We live in a safe neighborhood
Close to a nature reserve.
‘Don’t panic’
‘Speak to the bear softly in a human voice’
The advice from experts if you have a bear encounter,
So we practice speaking softly like my father did,
Pretending we met a bear on our evening walk.
 
We loved the house when we bought it
The wildlife in our backyard was not included
The home inspector missed the detail.
 
The distant fires on changing wind directions
Fill the lungs trying to expel the fumes 
Must close the windows tight shut.
The red trees were actually green
Touched now by the yellow orange-red of Fall.
Each year we ask where summer has gone
We know it’s gone to Fall
The rakes turn yellow with the leaves.
 
I don’t know why the butterflies 
Are still flitting around madly
My French-Canadian neighbor 
Says they call them cabbage butterflies in French
I saw a brown one across the tall flowers in my backyard
A version of an older cabbage!
 
It is forbidden to talk about winter
We have five months of it here
The W word can be the enemy to mindfulness
Only say ‘If winter comes can spring be far behind’*
For the moment
Continue to love the red trees
And color your hair with henna.
 
*Line from Shelley’s poem ‘Ode to the West Wind’
                        

After Michael Jackson’s song Man in the Mirror
Based on news reports of people falling from planes attempting to flee Afghanistan. 
 
I’m talking about the man in the window
I’m asking him to hold on tight 
Just because the plane was full
To drop down below to earth
Doesn’t make it right
 
I’m talking about the man in the window
I’m asking him to find a star
Just because the plane was full
Throw him a seatbelt an oxygen mask
How could he fall so far?
 
I’m talking about the man in my window
I’m asking him to come right in
Just because the plane is full 
Offer him a house and some food
A place to spend the night.
 
I’m talking about the women and children
I’m praying for those left behind
I’m asking for the world to take notice
Do all in your power for them, if you can’t
Just spare a thought and be kind.
  
Na-na-na, na-na-na
Na-na, na-na*
 
*Last lines from the song ‘Man in the Mirror’ by Michael Jackson