“. . . and swallows in the air.”

This past spring, as avian flu raged, I’d struggled with a series of enervating health issues. Sick of being (mildly) sick, as a precaution against further exposure to yet another virus, I foolishly decided to stop filling the bird feeder on my back deck. Foolishly as in not-logical. Foolishly as in I dimly recognized that, in fact, I’d been helplessly struggling with Things I Cannot Change; horrifying daily headlines didn’t help. But, hey, here was a decision I had some control over! Even if the Science supporting this decision was definitely questionable.

Yet my backyard’s cardinals, bluejays, lusty robins, sparrows of all stripes, purple and gold finches, and chickadees have thrived! In spite of my empty feeder. Despite my foolishness, daily I am blessed by these hearty creatures as I drink my coffee and write in my journal. To be reminded—and, oh, how much I need to be reminded—that I am deeply interconnected with a beyond-my-backyard-fence eco-system. The compact yet life-giving park on the next block and, of course, other neighbors’ bird feeders all sustain our neighborhood’s birds.

Birds do not recognize fences.  Birds do not recognize ownership. Birds do not recognize property rights. Skittering from a berry-bearing bush to a nectar-rich lily to bird feeders scattered hither and yon, birds find what they need. They get what they need. And generously reward all of us, even foolish and overwhelmed humans like me, with buoyant, joyful song.

But, wait! There’s more backyard joy. High above us are circling, dependable “swallows in the air!” Not dependent on foolish humans like me,  yearly, those darting, chattering creatures remind us that, yes, indeed, sunshine came along with thee. “It’s summer: here we are again.”

Our damaged, overwhelmed planet has nevertheless circled again. It’s a miracle.