42 Cedar Waxwings

March 12, 2023

Sunrise March 6, 2023 (the last we saw of the sun this week!)

There weren't many photos this week. It was gray. It rained. Thankfully it didn’t storm. My work week was particularly challenging so it felt stormy inside. The sun must have risen, somewhere, back behind the clouds. The full moon hid too, but its presence was surely felt in the troubled energy of the week.

Somewhere back there that moon was full, like this one from February.

I found gratitude in my walks. Grateful for a body that could walk. Grateful it was warm enough to walk. Grateful for the soaking rains that have replenished what was so dry in last summer’s drought. Grateful for a raincoat that kept the water on the outside. Grateful to move my body, to try and move the muscles that just wanted to clamp down, tighten up and not face the challenges in my path. Grateful for the tiny buds on trees and the sound of red-winged blackbirds. Grateful to know this too shall pass.

Snow geese passing overhead are also a sign of change.

Approaching my house on yet another gray day walking without the camera I see movement in the tree - lots of movement! I started to count - 42 cedar waxwings feasting on the tiny red berries the evergreen bushes provide each spring. Back and forth between the bushes and the tree, stuffing themselves with treats I had failed to notice. Noisy and full of life, finding joy in the damp and gray.

Cedar waxwings always manage to look colorful even on the grayest days.

I watched for a while and wondered if I could walk past them, open the garage door, go inside and get the camera. They allowed it without flying away - those berries must be good. They allowed me to walk around them taking photos. Even though the light was poor and the sky was gray, it felt like a much-needed gift. Through the lens I saw not only the funny expressions on the waxwings, but the buds on the tree.

They always look like they are up to some mischeif!

The magic berries

Sometimes it’s hard to weather the storms. To walk through the gray patches without seeing the sun. Some days I just have to rest. Some days I have to lean in and look for the gifts. Some days my gratitude feels a little more hollow. These are the days my practice helps me remember, this too shall pass. A new day will come. Anything can happen - and it might be wonderful. Anything - like 42 cedar waxwings making a house call.

Or a tiny feather caught on a branch.

Earlier this week Katie Hawkins-Gear posted this in her wonderful newsletter:

Tell me something good

Not only did that get the song, “Tell Me Something Good,” (Chaka Kahn and Rufus) stuck in my head but I’ve been trying to use this in the more challenging moments. It’s a wonderful bedtime practice that doesn’t require me to turn on a light and write in my journal but can help me go to sleep with sweeter thoughts in my head. The thing is there’s always something. Sometimes I just notice it more easily than others.

For instance, watching a goldeneye and a beaver watching each other.

Or this hooded merganser being a goofball.

I have fewer sunrise photos in my archives in March than any other month. It just tends towards gray and cloudy - and when the clouds clear the winds will blow. If it wasn’t raining in March we would really be in trouble!

There’s a sunrise back there somewhere - March 11, 2023

So dear friend, take good care of yourselves this week and if you are so inclined to comment, tell me something good! I’d love to hear how you are weathering the storms.