19 April 2020. Towhee at Dusk.
Are these too ephemeral? Only because they're so important. For me, that is--the recognition. I've been greeting my towhees for many years now. Hearing their particular small call somewhere up above when I step outside--or returning from a walk. I know they know me--how not? Just the way I know them. Not one by one, necessarily--although that would be admirable. But in the collective--a very special group of friends.
I read that these birds can live upwards of fourteen years. (Typo just now: fourteen tears...) which provides a framework for understanding on my part. Their lifetimes include past lives of our own. They've been here all along--when Lydia first appeared in back, with one of her offspring--a tiny fawn, dotted with white, and those impossibly spindly legs--so narrow but so strong...
The towhee's call--a tiny, high pitched cheep-cheep (emphasis on the first part). Someone once said it was a warning, to their towhee families--the presence of a stranger. But I think it can only be a greeting. In fact, I'm sure of it. All in the timing--just when they call out--their awareness of that particular moment. Shared...
And, of course, my response-- "Hi Tow..."
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Last night, returning from a long walk, in the half-light. There in the street, right in front--just one...
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It was B. who named her Lydia--the first of the deer. Now we have I don't know how many generations, sometimes one fawn, sometimes two. I'm pretty sure they're sometimes born right here in the back yard...
