The Tattler

We made a pilgrimage to Ballona Creek in an attempt to get the illusive Wandering Tattler, a nemesis bird for me. It was a day of life birds for us, or at least a hope for life birds. My core birding group showed up to say good bye to me, John, Barb, Tommye, Lou & Irwin. I was touched they all came, giving up their Sundays, not just this week, but all these many weeks, to spend time with me, looking for birds, talking about birds, sharing their knowledge,, excitement and joy in the natural world. although he claims to have disdain for Great Blue Herons, I've never met a raptor that didn't enrapture Luigi...so we tromped out on the jetty all the way past safe to the edge of the rocky outcropping, set up the scopes and started scanning. I spotted a small sandpiper with day glo yellow legs, focused in and said "I think I have one", and indeed I had. I told her how, on this Sunday morning, probably my last for a while, she was a very important bird. We watched her pick at the rocks, preen and sleep and then picked out way back across the rocks. Some of us were heading south to try to find some eagles, and some of us heading home, so some good byes were said. Love love love seems to be everywhere for me now. Confessions of deep and abiding friendship are flowing freely, plaintive statements about loss and being missed are also being offered up, like little gifts, surprise packages, butterfly kisses. Strange to have felt so without friends, without connections, so blind to the silver ties that link me, and now, to have them glow, like suddenly a black light has been switched on and the lint is showing everywhere. How did I miss it? What was I listening to, instead of these heart songs? Perhaps my own song is too loud. But there they are, small missives, cards, presents, phone calls, gestures, from places I had not expected. Confessions of love that was with me all along. I must listen more closely, there is a scratch at the door, open it, let it in.