To Come Back Up with Seeds

American Goldfinch

I watched the birds convene on the ice-covered earth where earlier we scattered seeds just for them, their feathers fluffed to stay warm against the Arctic air that swept through our woods. Hundreds of birds, their wings loud when something unseen and unheard to me causes them all to take flight suddenly only to return seconds later when all is clear again. Grackles, cardinals, sparrows, black-eyed juncos, cowbirds, red-winged blackbirds, and American goldfinches - all together at once on the ground, in the trees, and on the feeders. Some came in groups while others came alone. They all mingled together, no tugs of war over a coveted seed or better place to stand. A welcome distraction from the despair that comes with witnessing what feels like a great unraveling.

It seems futile to even write about birds coming to seeds left for them in the dead of winter. I read the news, watch the videos, go over the commentary. I switch it all off and close my eyes to the memory of childhood history lessons that built up the idea of who we are, who “We the People” are, and I don’t recognize some of us in this moment. Where did we go wrong?

I watch the birds.

I don’t have any answers, and I don’t know what to do. The lessons spoke of our greatness but never prepared us for breaking. We knew better than to believe everything, but we believed enough to want a piece of the dream.

The grackles are quiet, unbelievable for a bird that has so much to say on fair weather days. Where did their voices go? Hunger silences them.

The goldfinches gather near me, dipping their heads toward the earth to come back up with seeds.

I do not give into despair.

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