Birds are better than words

They're always telling us to chill.

You have to be careful when you step onto my mother’s patio.

There’s usually a throng of animals out there.

At least a couple of squirrels. Usually, also a finch, a grackle, some sparrows, a couple of blue jays, two pairs of mourning doves. And every now and then, a crow touches down on the fence to holler at everyone.

When I step outside, they all lose their minds and rush off. But if I’m very quiet and patient, they come back, one by one.

They’re not here to see me, but rather enjoy the mountain of nuts and seeds my mother dutifully leaves for them each day. She’s a backyard saint. And, like every genuine saint, she’ll soon be broke.

It’s worth it though. Just to sit absolutely still among those animals. A grey squirrel chases a black squirrel away — only for the black squirrel to poke his head over the fence, looking for another opportunity. The mourning doves are always together, watching out for each other. When they puff up their feathers, they seem twice as big. But it’s hard to tell. They’re getting so fat. The sparrows line the fence, seven or eight at a time. They’re an early warning system for the whole community. If I should reach for my phone, or try to light a smoke, the sparrows take flight first. Then the whole crowd rushes for the exit. Except the fat doves.

I could never be still enough for squirrels. They’re little lightning bolts. But being around birds does an ex-addict good. They teach stillness. No screens. Not even a smoke. Just perfect stillness. Perfect for having thoughts.

Like, how did I manage to come out from beneath the crushing weight of my own misdeeds? Was I ever exonerated? Maybe a reckoning awaits somewhere down the line. But right now, I feel as light as a sparrow.

Of course, it still hurts to live in this world. If it didn’t, you wouldn’t have feelings. Life is about how you deal with the hurt — while holding onto the feelings.

It helps to spend time with birds.