Friday September 13, 2024
I sit on the cushioned bamboo lounger on the screened-in back porch, my legs stretched out before me. Tears roll down my cheeks. Fatigue. Weakness. Pain. Monotony of the day-in, day-out regimen of self-care. And to what end? I feel I make no worthwhile contributions to life. I know that's not literally true, but it is how I feel.
I've been here so many times before...
If all I do is take care of myself, it's like...
Why? I'm just maintaining simply to keep maintaining a crippled body that can't shop, cook, clean, do laundry, change linens, garden, tend to our infant granddaughter, engage regularly in conversation, and on-and-on...
This state of mind is often a result of fatigue -- this focus on my can'ts. I know why children cry when they're exhausted. It's like an overload; the mind-body simply can't process anymore. The reserves are low or non-existent.
It's a lovely North Carolina September day, but I have not the energy to take a walk and enjoy it. So, I sit witnessing the songbirds as they drink from the water dishes on the deck and eat the nuts and some of the millet I'd sprinkled earlier. And I cry, questioning my value.
I get up, make my way to the storm door, and enter the kitchen. I retrieve a glass and fill it with filtered water. I look out the kitchen window from where I can see the deck. A lone crow is drinking from one of the water dishes on the deck floor. I'd filled it with fresh water about an hour earlier.
As I cry, I counter this feeling of valuelessness with, You would never think this way in your care of another who suffers with a debilitating injury, disease, or disability. You would not think the person is valueless or that your care was in vain. You are your own caregiver, so be kind to yourself as you would another...
The reminder helps some, but the feeling still lingers.
As I gaze out the window, my (understandable) self-judgement is confronted, as I witness Crow stagger-walk to a different side of the dish.
Oh no. He looks like he's injured.
I witness as he attempts to jump onto the wooden bench built into the deck. Usually crows can hop-fly right up with no problem. But this guy/gal struggles. He eventually makes it to the bench.
He pauses like he has to take a rest. I continue watching through the window. He repeats the same struggle as he stagger-jumps up to the wooden rail where I sprinkle millet and nuts for the wildlife and birds. (It's a decent-sized deck. I usually sprinkle nine different small piles of millet spread out on the deck rails and scatter-place the walnuts and almonds atop the bench and rails. That way, multiple animals can eat without arguing over the feeding stations. Also, with the food spread far apart, it may help prevent the spread of viruses among wildlife.)
Then, Crow stagger-walks a few steps and sits on his belly and starts eating some millet.
I've never seen a crow do this. They always stand to eat. I wonder if maybe one of his legs is broken or injured though he doesn't appear to be favoring a leg. I also wonder if Crow suffers from a neurological disorder. His stagger kind of reminds me of distemper. But I don't think crows can get rabies or distemper, can they?
I go quietly back out onto the screen porch. Usually, any wildlife who are eating take off when a human visits the porch during their meals. If the human is already on the porch, the wildlife sticks around.
But Crow just glances up at me and then returns to eating millet. I take a seat on the chair right beside the deck, still inside the screen. Crow glances up at me again and then returns to his meal.
I speak to Crow, "Hey there. I'm sorry your injured. I know how it feels man. But we are here together. We are not alone."
He finishes the pile of millet and then wobbles to the next pile. He doesn't finish it. He turns around and faces me. He then looks down and surveys the bench as he weakly stands. It looks like he wants to jump down, but three times he hesitates deciding the jump is too risky.
He reminds me of me, the delicate and diligent concentration it takes to maneuver so that one doesn't fall or drop stuff. (When I start dropping things, I know I am trying to move too fast. I often say aloud to myself, "Slow down. I don't have to hurry. I can't hurry.")
I wonder if Crow wants some water., if that's why he was contemplating how to get down off the rail. Hmmm, maybe I'll put the dish up on the bench later to make it easier for him to drink, if he visits again.
Next, he stagger-walk-hops to a deck rail that is slightly lower. He pecks around like he's looking for some nuts which have already been eaten by other birds.
I wonder if he'll stay there if I bring out some almonds?
I make my way back into the kitchen, open the almond jar, pour a few almonds into my hand, and make my way back out onto the porch. He doesn't flinch...until I open the screen door to take the almonds out to the deck. He then flies away with no problem, so I know his wings are okay.
I guesstimate the whole scenario lasts about twelve minutes.
Injured crow.
Not with the flock for he can't keep up.
Most times in nature, the flock doesn't have the luxury of caring for the injured.
They have to keep moving; it's about survival.
I have to keep moving to survive.
My tears ceased, I thank Crow for his timed-just-right visit...
Nature has again provided me a companion in my pain and grief...
A companion to remind me I am not alone, even though I may feel alone...
~*~
Later that day I place one of the water dishes up onto the bench, just in case my friend returns. Two crows visit, neither one injured. But one of them seems to be trying to pull the water dish from the bench down back onto the deck floor. I chuckle as I watch through the kitchen window. He doesn't succeed. The water bowls are glass pie plates which prove to be too precarious to try to move. I later place the dish back down onto the deck floor.
I don't witness the injured crow again. I hope he's doing okay.
~*~
I later looked up bird flu. From what I read, crows don't typically get bird flu. But they can get West Nile virus. However, I've not seen in other birds with any symptoms. We clean the pie-plate watering dishes regularly.
~*~
