Why must love & loss be intertwined?

The hummingbirds and their wars at the feeder.

The grandfatherly tree with its many massive trunks, limbs and verdant foliage.

The birds who come visit beneath its canopy to partake from the feeder I hung and seeds tossed across the ground.

The view. Overlooking the historic downtown courthouse square and infamous Whiskey Row. The view toward the west/northwest toward Thumb Butte and the high desert mountains shouldering Prescott.

The bells from the courthouse that peal “across the land” on the hour and half-hour.

The disharmonious raucous from the cicadas tucked in trees abundant.

Cooper. The 10-year-old collie-Aussie shepherd (?) mix in the neighbor’s yard. Poor Cooper. Cooped up and lonely all day in his yard. I’ve stories about Cooper I’ve never written, experiences and interactions both funny and sad. (I don’t write as I should. Honestly, I don’t think anyone’s interested.)

Picaro, the feisty orange tabby with the barely-there attention span befitting his immaturity and young soul. He officially lives a couple blocks away but loves hanging ’round this area with the library and passersby. Picaro, in Spanish literature, is a roguish character whose travels and adventures are a source for social satire.

These are the things that I love and hold dear … the things I treasure in my current space at {unpublished address}.

Almost always, it’s not the place I’ll miss when I leave an abode. Or the people, primarily roommates, occasionally fellow tenants.

It’s the animals.

The cat who comes visit. The dog nearby.

And the birds. Especially the birds. Mustn’t forget the birds!

I’m a freak in that I loooove to feed the birds!

I write “freak” because I go outta my way to find a way to feed the birds in every living space (be it a room or studio apartment).

None of these spaces is my own. None of these spaces is a home. Some have lasted a little as a week or few. One lasted three years — which turned out to be two years too many! On average, I probably stay put 4-6 months before a move becomes forced and/or required for whatever reason.

Most of these spaces have little in common aside from gross instability, shit happening that forces a move and animals.

Yet I reach, not intentionally, to “make it a home” in my love for animals. Am quick to admit that I like them M-U-C-H more than people. However, I don’t have a pet. For obvious reasons. A fucked-up domestic life does not lend itself to a pet companion.

Sooooo … the animals. The birds and the dogs and the cats around me. They’re not mine. Some are “borrowed” … like Cooper the Cooped Up Furry Canine and Picaro the Rogue Feline.

And the birds — the big and small wild birds and the hummers — they stop by not to see me of course but partake of their plentiful food lovingly and joyfully provided by moi.

I look at the hummingbird feeder right here on my patio — soon to no longer be mine — and the joy in my heart swells every time a hummer flits by … and/or pauses to imbibe (of homemade nectar).

My heart does a dance as one hummer gives aerial aggressive pursuit of another in the territorial protection of the food source. Sure, to the human perspective, it may look silly. Why, the numerous feeder holes and abundant nectar can nourish a crowd of 10!

But nature is nature, animals are animals and it is not our job to impose the human perspective upon greater forces and creatures outside ourselves.

What seems like “silly hummingbird wars” to our limited viewpoint in fact is a dance of life that we mortals can never fully understand.

We must listen. We must learn. We must and can only appreciate and rejoice in the wisdom of the animal kingdom that we as humans have lost or destroyed amongst ourselves.

Such as my contemplations this Sunday. Haven’t many Sundays left here. My exit date is Aug. 31. Still haven’t found a new space. Not gonna go there today.

Today’s about joy and appreciation. Gratitude for that which has been good and IS good in my current space.

The view.
The tree.
Copper and Picaro.
The birds.

These are the things that I love here.

These are the things that stir deep grief and loss upon my impending departure.

All of a sudden, I know not what else to say.

Except moving here … leaving here … it’s a process … and a process of the heart that’s rare. Meaning I’m rarely fondly attached to a space. More often than not, I celebrate a departure!

This place is different. I wish it didn’t have to be. The moving at this time and for these reasons. But it does.

I shall miss the view and the tree and Cooper and Picaro and the birds so much, I could cry.