I was reading a post (To remember: is to undo dis-membering) and a poem from Pádraig Ó Tuama at
He shared the loss of a dear friend who had died suddenly. He writes, “I thought it was the end of writing poetry for me. So I looked at birds for hours instead.”
In his poem, Pádraig tells us of a morning spent accompanied by his grief, watching goldfinches, hares, and geese. He asks the reader:
The question for this week is an old one: Who do you remember? What places — what animals, what birds, what scents — bring them to mind now? What happens to you when they come to you through these senses?
His poem invited me to (metaphorically) sit beside him and watch my own natural world. I went to my terrace with a cup of coffee and an empty mind and listened, first with my eyes closed, then open, in a new way of seeing.
I was assaulted by a rhythmic and complex series of notes between a song and a squawk. A quail was sitting above me on the roof of my cottage, announcing his availability to females.
And then a whistle pierced the air from a magpie, wing tips and tail colored with cerulean blue, perched in the almond tree with replies coming from the field across the road.
A rustling under the bushes revealed my black cat, who had gone hunting the previous night and was returning for breakfast. As he nuzzled my leg, a soft purr vibrated from his body.
The cool breeze blew over me, causing me to pull my robe closed as the sunlight warmed my body.
When my world contracts to these small moments, even the air comes alive. The noise of the world melts in the face of this harmony between stillness and aliveness. My body rests, my mind releases worry, and my heart expands in gratitude. There is a welcoming of life just as it is that brings me peace and happiness.
These moments, which appear as pinpoints within a grander portrait, reveal life in its simplicity and honesty. I remember who I am and what I genuinely care about.
My world becomes smaller, ordinary, slower, and more powerful in its grounding.
Thank you, Pádraig Ó Tuama, for inspiring this reflection with your poem, Now I Watch through an Open Door