The puddle has been so quiet this past week that I had started to wonder if our frequent visitors had already decided their season here was finished. Then today, there was one standing along the shoreline as though nothing had changed at all.
There have still been plenty of the little joyful flyers in the late afternoon, and the birds at the feeders seem to be getting braver about exploring the fountain and the patio. I enjoy every bit of that. But apparently somewhere along the way I accidentally became attached to the bigger visitors too.
It is a very one-sided relationship, of course. They have absolutely no idea that I notice when they arrive, wonder where they have been when they disappear, or feel ridiculously happy when one finally shows up again. They are simply going about the business of being birds while I have apparently assigned them roles in the ongoing story of the puddle.
Maybe that is what happens when we pay attention to a place long enough. The familiar creatures stop feeling like random wildlife passing through and begin to feel like part of the rhythm of home. Their arrivals become something we look forward to, and their absences leave the landscape feeling just a little quieter.
I know the seasons are changing, and eventually some of our puddle visitors really will leave for a while. I am simply not quite ready to say goodbye yet.
So today, I am grateful for one familiar silhouette standing in the shallow water and the small reassurance that, at least for now, the visitors have not all left us just yet.
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