A few weeks ago I found myself needing extra quiet and solitude. Book events with The First Five Years had left me joyful at the response, but truly exhausted. I had no urge to turn on the radio (even CBC!). It felt unnecessary that I listen to the evening TV news/weather. Responsibility I had to paying attention to the media evaporated. And I wasn't even drawn to listen to music.
My attention had shifted inward. And what I discovered there was deep and absolute gratitude to be here, now--a sort of deeper mindfulness state than I have previously experienced––and the ripple effect has been quite fascinating:
Over the time since then I have been noticing an increase in birdsong here on the farm. I suspect they are not actually singing more–– I am probably just paying more attention. But the songs are certainly more engaging to me, and sometimes lead to adventure.
Three days ago when I went down to our gardens (which my husband Gregg calls "Heartsong Gardens") to see what produce might be ready for lunch, I noticed a little sparrow dart in front of me beating a path from the blueberry patch. It flew so close to me I thought it must not have noticed me. Knowing the bushes were covered in netting, and there were lots of wild berries around for her to eat, I carried on without another thought. That is until the next day when she did the exact same thing! Her voice was urgent and demanding and so were those of the two other sparrows sitting--or should I say dancing--on the nearby fenceposts. "Okay!" I said. "What are you trying to tell me?" Unsuccessful at learning what she needed, I went on to the garden and picked the lettuce. It was on the way back that it got really interesting! I felt a need to check the blueberries to see if they were ready to pick. I was just picking up the netting around the second plant when I saw the tiniest little baby sparrow caught in the netting. I held his little body and tried to untangle him but he had done a good job of getting caught. I called Gregg who was using the leaf blower to suck up cuke beetles and somehow he heard me over the blower! He ran for scissors and by the time he returned the little bird had settled down or gone into shock. It was not easy to figure out how to cut it away--his feathers were so tiny and fluffy they were hard to see past. I figure it was probably his first flying lesson.
Soon he was in a bucket on a table in the house. I used a Heartmath technique of sending him compassion and then dropped water droplets on his beak so he could have a good drink. Soon he tucked his beak under his tiny wing and took a nap. Within a couple of hours he was yelling loud enough to interfere with my husbands music practicing so we returned him to the garden where the three sparrows were noisily waiting. Once I tipped the bucket on its side he was off and running into the grass peeping loudly. I didn't actually get to see him fly but he was now in their care and would probably make it. It made me wonder how many little worlds are unfolding out there every moment of every day. I gave thanks for the experience and the gift of Mindfulness.
Copyright
© Nancy Tracey 2013
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