from bitchy barista to birds to a better day

Oh to sing with the joy of the birds.

The song of birds brings me to pause beneath a large tree bushy with fresh spring leaves.

The pause is welcomed for my daypack is heavy with laptop, books, bottled water and assorted sundries.

While the temperature’s a springtime mild 68 degrees, the sun’s a fast draw here in the high desert and mountains of central Arizona due to the altitude. We’re a mile-high town here, like Denver. Thus Sir Sol’s like the bright spotlight overhead and close. Applying sunscreen for half the year is a good habit to develop if one spends any time outdoors!

Oh to sing with the joy of the birds.

I’m trekking from a less-than-stellar visit at Starbucks. A downright disappointing one, in fact! I’d gone to hunker down for some computer work while enjoying a free birthday beverage.

Isn’t the celebratory occasion I seek. The barista is a bitch. The latte level is low so I return to the barista to fill it to the brim. She’s as bitchy the second time around as the first.

I get all settled at the table and the Wi-fi goes wonky. Again. A frequent occurrence at that Starbucks, which is why I visit infrequently

So I pack up and lug myself and weighty backpack uphill toward the library, mentally grumbling how I’d accomplished nothing work- or writing-wise.

There’s something about birdsong that’s arresting.

Something in it that lifts one’s eyes and heart upward. That soothes one’s troubles. That takes the edge off worries and shifts things back into perspective. That reminds one of life and that life can be grand.

In the simplest moments.

Our feathered friends are veiled by lime-green foliage. They cannot be spotted or seen on their perches of branches and limbs that Mother Nature provides.

Yet their song rings through the wood and the leaves and the sky.

They sing. Because no one told them they couldn’t.

They chirp their melodies boldly — sometimes in harmony, sometimes in crazed cacophony — because they can do no differently.

They “sound off” without fear of consequences or punishment. There’s no mama or papa bird bashing them because they sing too loudly … too quietly … or simply differently from their brethren.

It’s unfortunate for us that humans aren’t modeled after birds, particularly in rearing our young.

Birds are free to be.

I love birds. Of all creatures in the animal (mammal) kingdom, if I had to pick a favorite, it’s birds, hands down and wings up!

Oh to sing with the joy of the birds.

Freely.

What would my life look like were I to have their same freedom to be and express?

Such is the question that enters my mind while I pause to listen to and appreciate the birds above.

Would I continue cleaning motel rooms? Or doing any number of the many menial shitty jobs that have, through no desire or intent of my own, developed into my “career” and taken me far far off path?

No.

I’d be writing. Singing my song. Without explanation or proffered reasons or apologies for being alive. Without shame. Without fear of bashings and burials and repercussions and reprisals.

I’d be singing like the birds … freely, joyfully, within life itself.

It’s amazing, isn’t it, how the briefest of moments — such as that 15-second pause beneath a tree — can bring us back to ourselves?

We need only to stop and smell the flowers, see the sky, listen to the birds sing. To marvel in, and be marveled by, the sweet, the simple and the unadorned moments are a part of life’s gifts.

I need the reminder and moreso I need it frequently! I need just to take time out from the conflicts and deep stresses about: work vs. jobs … dreams vs. duties … the future vs. the past …healthy responsibilities vs. entrapments … and listen to life.

And guess what! I forgot about the bitchy barista because of the birds!

Thank you my finest feathered friends! {While unseen from the ground, it’s likely they looked like just like this high upon their shrouded berths:}

birdsintree

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