It is one of those mornings when the world seems to cry, "CHIRP!"

The migrating birds have started to trickle into my yard and the winter visitors have not left it yet. I walk to the bird feeders and begin to fill several of them with black oil sunflower seeds. The ice crunches under me. The tree nearest the feeders is encrusted with ice like a thick varnish on the bark. The snow is melting rapidly.

After filling the feeders, I walk a short distance away, stand still as I possibly can and watch. I am more than willing to watch anything that appears. The birds check me out for a short time and then deeming me not worthy of their fear, they fly into the feeders.

The chickadees are the first to sample the new seed. They declare it to be good and the parade of birds begins. My shoelaces have knots in them, my blue jeans have frayed cuffs and my old work shirt has a torn pocket, but for a moment, just a moment, I feel as though I am as regally dressed as any king has ever been.

Watching the hungry birds and their feeding frenzy has made me rich. There is no need for me to look for what is hidden here in my yard. The birds show themselves freely. I marvel at the tiny Black-capped Chickadees that come to my bird feeders. They come every day on trembling wings. They arrive each morning with a burst of energy and enthusiasm. A guest that any host would always welcome.

These little birds are not uncommon, but I still watch them in amazement as though they were the world's rarest birds. I have become too old not to be impressed by most everything I see in nature. I see things today and these things that I see are immediately mixed with my memories. The chickadee causes me to remember the places I walked as a boy -- the places where the ice crunched under my boots. The places where trees were encrusted with ice like a thick varnish on the bark. These places still exist in my mind. I watch the chickadees take turns grabbing a seed. I can't help but smile.

The result of all of this is an ability to be greatly entertained by the feeding antics of one small, gray, white and black bird. For this blessing I am most thankful.

Copyright © Al Batt
January 30, 2002