Prompt: Expectations
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In the past week the cicadas seem to play a different drone.
It's a lower pitch and sometimes softer.
Like they are reminding us that we are approaching the far side of summer.
Their music starts early in the day.
At least I think it must be cicadas, and not tree frogs.
Though tree frogs can make lots of different sounds.
But they usually don't start their conversations until late in the day, toward evening.
This afternoon, as I meandered in the back yard up near the woods, I heard an odd sound.
I followed the sound and saw a tiny area of grass trembling.
I cautiously approached.
The sound was from a bee which appeared to be investigating what looked like a cicada, which wasn't moving.
I didn't want to disturb them, so I marked the spot with a small clump of dead grass leftover from mowing.
Hopefully I'll remember tomorrow to go check it out.
This morning, I found two treasures in the yard.
Two feathers. One from Hawk. One from Blue Jay.
One of the hawks that frequents our yard, I have named Cyrus. He looks so regal as he stands erect upon his perches: various branches of a few trees and the upright old wooden pole that is part of the stand that holds wires where blackberries once grew.
Multiple blue jays frequent our yard; I have no names for them, other than Blue Jay.
I found the blue jay feather first and poked it in my hair, in the back, where the comb-latch that keeps my hair in place as its pulled back in a ponytail.
When I found the hawk feather, I put it in the same place. But I could no longer feel the blue jay feather.
So I retraced my steps using my hawk eyes to see if I could spy the blue jay feather.
But, I didn't find it anywhere.
Where would you like me to put you? I ask the hawk feather, thinking I'd put it in the ceramic toothpick holder that sits on my kitchen windowsill of treasures. The small holder is filled with unpopped, colored popcorn and holds other feathers I have found.
I want to stay outside, Hawk Feather replies.
Is here okay? I ask
Yes, it answers.
So I place Hawk Feather with the large pine cones that sit in a black-wrought-iron-wire bowl, which sits on a small circular mosaic-tile table top supported by curved black-wrought-iron legs. The small table stands outside just to the right of our front door.
I make my way into the house.
About an hour or so later I take down my hair.
To my delight, Blue Jay Feather falls out.
With its agreement, I place it in a nest that holds three small ceramic speckled eggs. The nest sits upon the bottom of a small Lenox salad bowl that's turned upside-down on the countertop in the bathroom, so that the bottom of the bowl becomes the top. The nest and bowl are part of my bathroom gratitude altar.
Blue Jay Feather is happy and so am I.
