There’s a ‘flutter’ of activity at and around the bird feeder.  Must be lunchtime.  I have discerned four different types of winged visitors and each variety seems to bring buddies making the hub a lively center.  Nonstop landings and takeoffs on the needled branches create a visual orchestra like notes scampering on a sheet of music.  The elongated contraption keeps squirrels at bay and has six beak sized openings around its four sides.  The mottled, bubbly chirp of the chickadees sounds like friends gathered and gabbing in deep contrast to the bass squawk of the territorial Western Mountain Blue Jay.  The bird feeder swings as birds land, take a nibble and launch in flight.

Inside the warm cabin, the citrus scent of guava fills the upstairs; smooth rounded fruits with skin the color of pale, aged and yellowed paper and just as delicate, thin as a wisp.  They made it up the mountain from our down the hill backyard in fine form.  A few of them chopped up and mixed into my salad of organic fennel, cucumbers, cilantro and spring greens added just enough acid and sweetness.  Atop, I added some raw hummus seasoned with garlic.

Pale yellow and homegrown guavas compared to homegrown deeper yellow lemons against golden depths of granite.

By my feet, my doggie charm curled up, gently breathing and in full REM possibly ruminating on this past week and all her adventures, new people, places and animals in her life now.

And I, resting on my lounge chair by the light of day writing, just being, sensing, involuntarily beating my heart, captivated and surrounded by pure grace.