Hot water bottles and fluffy socks have been making an appearance in our house, so the summer must be over.  I’ve been searching for something to write about. The first blog post after a break is always a bit rough.  I considered an entire post on the weather (the favourite conversation topic of us Brits), but yesterday something magical happened, so I thought I’d write about that instead. 

Fledgling

I was making breakfast yesterday when I noticed a small ball of something intriguing on the patio that wasn’t there before.  I pressed my nose up against the windowpane and could make out a ball of feathers, with two twigs poking out the bottom. It was a tiny bird with its head tucked under its wing.  Its back was a beautiful pattern of black, yellow and white that got me googling its species. The patterning looked like a goldfinch, but the head and neck weren’t quite right.  This ball of bird was brown on the noggin, but goldfinches are red.  Then I noticed how fluffy the brown parts were: it was a baby goldfinch!

To fly or not to fly

Now I was in a quandary.  Did this bird need help?  Hello google, my old friend.  Some websites said put it in a box and take it to a local wildlife centre, others gave details for rearing by hand, but thank goodness I came across the RSPCA website, which said that if it wasn’t hurt, this could be perfectly normal fledgling behaviour.  The bird could be building its skills outside of the nest, and its parents were probably nearby.  I watched it for a while. It was very still and sleepy, only occasionally poking its head out, before nestling back down.

Yes, but what does it mean?

I’m invested in signs, having experienced one too many synchronicities to believe them all coincidences (before you write me off as bonkers, read this post I wrote a couple of years back, it’ll all make sense).  What could a goldfinch mean?  Some quick research said the Native American communities consider them a symbol of celebration, joy, motivation and positivity.  I’ve been feeling tired lately, so all these things were welcome, but what did it mean if a goldfinch died on my patio?

Be patient

I’d made breakfast, eaten breakfast, tidied the kitchen and supped my coffee, all the while keeping one eye on the little bird and willing it to fly away.  I was about to give up and resume my googling of what to do when fledglings can’t fly on their own, when it poked its head up and started looking around.  I plonked myself down on the window seat, attention rapt (miles better than television).  The little birdie became more animated, tweeting and pecking the ground until – just like magic – it flew!  First to the trampoline (where my quick-to-catastrophise brain feared it might be stuck on the net) then to the top of the trampoline, where it did a little poo (don’t worry kids, I’ll clean it up), then onwards to the welcoming arms of a tree.  Hooray for happy endings!    

There were some good reminders from the fledgling goldfinch.  One in relation to my children, who I can find myself worrying about sometimes, but who I know are capable of flying through life (with the odd supportive wing when needed).

The goldfinch also reminded me to be patient.  I can sometimes feel stuck, like I’m not moving forwards, but sometimes we need to be still and gather our strength, just like this baby bird.  It’s not always obvious on the outside what changes we’re going through, but when the time is right, we can spread our wings and fly. 

The joy

This beautiful fledgling brought the joy, just like the Native American wisdom predicted.  It was awe-inspiring to bear witness to one of nature’s happy endings, and immediately I wanted to write about it (hello motivation).

Remembering the why

Life’s been busy lately, all in good ways, but I’ve let writing fall by the wayside, telling myself I don’t have time and other things are more important.  A friend commented recently that perhaps I was letting go of the wrong things, and I think she was right.  Writing connects me to something deeper than myself.  I can get lost in it.  Time melts away, and I can even be surprised by the words that appear on the page.  Sometimes, especially with poetry, I don’t remember writing them at all.  There’s a richness to some of these words that seems beyond anything I could produce on my own, almost like a co-creation with the Universe, or Spirit, the muse, or the soul? Whatever it is, I like it, and life lacks colour and depth without it.  With that in mind, I’m going to recommit to posting weekly.  Friday will be my minimum posting day, if there’s more to say on other days, then that’ll be the icing on the cake (yum).

Until then lovely people, find the things that crack your heart open, and then go do them (no excuses). 

Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps the singing bird will come.

Lois Lowry