After the season’s last snow event in April, while pushing snow out of the path from the house to the shed, my attention was taken by several black-capped chickadees frolicking among the branches of the beech and maple trees straddling the wild blueberry patch. My path goes through the patch, between those two trees.
I had been dragging my feet, frustrated with something on my mind that I can’t remember now. Doing “snow moving meditation” (or “snow clearing yoga”) was helpful, as usual, but this time it was challenged by weariness that slowed me down and made the frustration worse.
I took a break to watch these winged, chatty attention snatchers. I rested one arm on top of the snow shovel handle, my hand extended away from me. One of the birds flew close by. I waited to see if they would grace me with a closer visit, having heard they will sometimes land on a person. It never happened to me in all the times I spent with chickadees.