The Watch

 

The Watch 

            Their orange petals are all the same tone. I have a jar of poppies. A friend rescued them from a curbside. She promised they would open up in the house, and several buds would ripen as well. I have fallen in love with orange. The flowers have spread their petals wide. They are joyful. I have been on bud watch. I am fascinated by the slow subtle change of color of the bloom hidden in the green cap at the top of its stem. One was sneaky and made the final change while I was out walking. I was drinking tea in the evening watching another bud, nothing. But overnight, the two buds were noticeably fatter, and the little caps strained to hold the blooms. The man, my husband and I watched waiting. Finally, he went to prepare breakfast, working in the kitchen while I sipped tea and stared with determination at the yet to open flowers. It was quick. One of the blooms popped off its cap and the orange closed blossom was exposed. My heart skipped a beat. I had seen a miracle.  

            Miracles. They are there. Always in front of us. Sometimes, we need reminders. Our cell phones capture us, the computers dragged us in, the television solidifies us in our chairs, on our couches, with the remote bringing us further from ourselves with endless choices on the screen. I dwell in the electronic world more than I like. Which is why I prefer walking outside, I become more than myself. I breathe again. Yes, I will carry my cell phone with me. It is tucked in a pocket quietly registering my steps and occasionally, I drag it out to take pictures of a flower sunning itself, an insect crawling along slowly, or the clouds in the sky. But mostly, I listen.

            When we were out walking, I had wanted to walk a certain neighborhood to look at whatever might be blooming. I changed my mind and we went to see if the kittens were out up the street at what we call the first kitty house. It was a cloudy day, but they might be outside. The man took me into another neighborhood after not seeing kittens. Remember miracles.

            I heard it in the sky, again, the noise of a large bird. Then we saw, wheeling in the air with the clouds behind them. Ospreys, one, two, no, three birds flying in circles. They were joined by two more until there were five birds calling in the air as they rode the thermals. We felt blessed and stood in the middle of the graveled street until we remembered to move closer to the edge. Always looking upward until we moved on leaving them to fly in the sky. A miracle.

            I still have a couple of buds waiting in the bouquet of poppies. But I have moved on. 

            I had my husband time how long it would be for the birds to return to the bird feeder after he filled it. It was just three minutes. A little female red finch appeared and then her mate, a fine red-headed finch. A minute later, two female gold finches appeared on ground below the feeder with two male gold finches at the feeder. The miracle of how they know the food had been replenished is beyond me. Let the miracles be.