The 4:30 p.m. lesson has ended. Now the juvenile robin sits
quietly in the sunlit lower branches of the catalpa tree waiting for its next
instruction. Every so often it sharpens its beak on the limb beneath it.
Earlier, on the grass outside my bedroom window, the young
robin stood observing its father. The older robin cocked its head to the side
listening and then jabbed at the damp grass to pull out a fat worm. The younger
robin squawked expectantly, until its father broke the worm up into smaller
pieces that it could place in its offspring’s gaping mouth.
A quick snap. I didn't want to disturb her.
Directly across from the catalpa, a female robin has chosen
the downspout against our house to construct a beautiful nest for her three
cyan coloured eggs. For several mornings, she gathered and arranged twigs, mud
and grasses—using her breast to firmly press these bits and pieces down. Amazing!
She knows that you need the correct ratio of wet/dry materials to build a
proper nest. I noticed that she has even woven in a pretty piece of baby blue
plastic. Although she is more exposed than if she had nested in a tree, I think
she has chosen wisely. It was quite blustery before dawn this morning and her
nest weathered it well.
Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here in the suburbs. But
then I remember that like the robin who built her fine nest beneath the eaves, I also chose this house. Where the yard is green and peaceful, the leaves on
the tall trees tremble, and the peonies and lilacs smell sweet in the spring.
This house made of brick where I felt at home and safe enough to bring my own
child into this world.
The vocal arrangement of the Singers Unlimited a cappella cover of Joni
Mitchell’s “I Don’t Know Where I Stand” is exquisite. (You can find it on this mix around the 52:48 mark.) Please, put on headphones, close your eyes and just listen.
It’s like falling in love—so fluid. Your heart may beat a little faster and you
may experience a tingling sensation that, like a warm and shimmering wave,
extends to your fingertips and toes.
My sincere thanks to dear Siba for sharing this song in the lovely mix that you didn’t know would be your last. x
Troy Dean from Red Light Radio created this beautiful and poignant mix for his partner Siba who passed away recently. A reminder to
cherish the ones we love because we never know how long we will
have with them. Everything is constantly changing and nothing lasts forever.
I witnessed the death of a grackle last week. It was being
chased by a robin when they collided with the glass railing of my neighbour’s
deck (a truly senseless design, if you ask me). They both crashed to the ground
and rolled painfully on their backs. Their beaks opening and closing silently. The
grackle died relatively swiftly, but the robin lived. We put it into a box with
air holes punched in it and a tea towel on top. It rested quietly in my
daughter’s room for the night. Early
the next morning, it flew out of the box so we opened the back door and let it
leave on its own. I hope it’s OK. This incident left me shaken. What frightens
me about death (loss) is how swiftly it can happen and how the world keeps turning, as though nothing tragic has occurred. Sensitive people are left to navigate
through dark waters on their own.
I don’t know who Troy Dean is personally, nevertheless I feel an affinity
to his song selections. I’m sorry for his painful loss, but I’m grateful that he shared this
deeply personal and romantic mix with his listeners.