We sit outside and watch all the pairs of birds who live around us come out in the evenings now.  The quail, Mr. and Mrs., stroll up the driveway, he protecting her and them eating and pausing to chat companionably.  The other night as we watched, we saw them turn around and run back down the driveway like crazy.  A short while later I was at the kitchen window, feeling like….well, like I was being watched.  And indeed? There were Mr. and Mrs. Q. perched on a large pot, watching us.  I could just see them cooking this up on the driveway- quick! let’s run! then we can watch THEM!

There is also a rather goofy goose couple- they fly over us early in the mornings discussing their day, and last night we saw them motor back to wherever they live around here, banking and swooping over our heads, honking out what might have been their dinner plans.   The woodpecker clan is continuing to teach me their language, and Mr. Dove has told the Partner in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t appreciate being copied, not like those silly woodpeckers do.  Tyrant and his girlfriend are actually sharing the feeder now from time to time.  The corn and the pattypan squash are coming up, and the moments where things seem as though all is well happen a bit more frequently.

HOWEVER.  And there is always a however, our indoor avians are, in an avoidance of all things springlike and flirty,  apparently in pitched battle with the Partner.  I was out all one afternoon and when I got home? Oh, boy.  There was an ominous silence from the Parrot Area.  The Partner said:   THEY’RE LUCKY THEY’RE STILL ALIVE.  Upon going over to check in with “them”, I found that indeed high dudgeon was the order of the day.  Boo was lunging in a pointedly beaky way at me, in the clearest possible transmission of,  I’m the boss and don’t you forget it.  Poppy refused to come out at all.   Everyone’s appendages were way out of joint.  I still don’t know what happened but my guess is somebody just wouldn’t shut up.

The thing about parrots is they are, truthfully, quite demanding.  I read once that having a parrot is like living with an African President (this was in reference to an African Gray), and I suppose living with B and P is like living with Brazilian Presidents.  In short: hilarious, dictatorial, able to freak out at the drop of a hat no one else sees, deeply loving, jealous, dramatic, intelligent and multi-lingual.  And, of course, beautiful.  With…memorable and betimes irritating…vocalization.  I essentially inherited all the birds I’ve had- people owned them and died, some were also just “rescued”.  Really, I never intended to be a parrot person.  Nor did I ever imagine I’d be living in a small yurt with two such creatures.  But, this is how things happened.

The question then becomes, how do we get this handled so everyone is OK with it.  At times that doesn’t seem to be possible, and I can’t help but think about all the stuff going on in the world and blench a bit at the sheer difficulty of getting people to get things sorted.  Living with parrots is my diplomatic training model, in a way.  As in, OK, the airport was bombed but we may still get a train to move.  Perhaps that train will have a bar car.  Perhaps with a bit of conviviality we can sort things out.   Along with conviviality, the other thing that seems to help is not being attached to an outcome.  In the Affair of the Parrots, this is difficult at times since, well, the airport’s been bombed, more or less.  It’s another meditation on fear then, isn’t it?  Will all be lost? or will we be able to look at the situation and move forward, probably in a better way than we’d’ve ever thought while Mired in Dudgeon.

Meanwhile, outside the world continues.  There is a beautifully patterned bird making his presentation to some unseen lady bird, swooping and hopping around and fanning his tail in a dizzying optic display.  An adult rabbit just hopped up the hill outside the window, seeming to flow through the grasses.  A few minutes later, a little kid rabbit appeared, still with white paws and growing ears- not a baby but not a grown up either.  You could just see the combination of awe, happiness, and nerves in each leap.  Also, the I’m not minding the grown up.   I am too a big bunny! Which is pretty much what all the calves scrolled across the pastures around here are like too- as though they feel they must assume a Dignified Demeanor, even while chasing each other’s tails.  I kind of miss the baby lambs and goats which are not in evidence this year,  but at the same time the chance to see all these shining little cows is pretty special.

This is the thing of it, of course.  Every minute contains everything, and we must try and make some sense of it.  Depending on our beginning tool kit, this can be a productive experience or it can be an ongoing crash and burn.  I’m starting to think that it isn’t as hard to find the sense in things as I used to- after you get through doing whatever you think is so hard you can’t do it, that is.  Life’s learning curve may be more like a monster roller coaster than anything else, and the deal is you have to let it shoot you way out over everything before you really even start the ride- you have to let go of the invisible safety handle before you get anywhere.   Keeping perspective really is quite the endeavor.  We rely on our somewhat tattered but good hearts to see us through; so far it looks like it’s working, plus or minus some ruffled feathers.


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