The Saturday Journal: a Saturday morning

tathelmillerwriter
11 hours ago
4 min read

I know this is controversial, but here goes....

I love a good snow–especially a quiet early morning snow–one with large snowflakes gently falling to the ground and a slight wind to carry the snow onto porches–and other covered places.

This was last Saturday–waking up to a blanket of white.

There were a few tiny birds at my feeders on this morning. Over the past few days I haven’t been able to fill the feeders because of the ground being iced over–from a mix of sleet and snow. Slick as glass, my Grandma used to say. The birds haven’t gone without seed though–I’ve been throwing it out from my porch.

But on this snowy morning–the warmth of snow had covered the ice and buried seeds and for the first time in days–I pulled on my Muck boots and took one step into the soft snow and then another–refilling each bird feeder.

And they came–boy, did they come! It was like one of them had blew the calvary horn--breakfast is served! Blue jays, little winter birds–black and white–cardinals–male and female–they came. And one pesky squirrel. I’m calling him Sammy because my grandkids have a squirrel too that eats at their feeder. They named him–none other than Sammy. Seems only fitting I name my squirrel the same.

He is such a hog–my squirrel named Sammy. He doesn’t just take a few seeds and jump down off the feeder–he sits back and grazes. I’m watching him from the window now. I go outside on the porch for the umpteenth time and scold him–I throw a tangerine at him–I miss. It was a scare tactic--not a target. He scampers down–hitting the snow–

And a few minutes later–he’s back.

I give up Sammy! I give up! I know you are hungry too, but do you have to be such a glutenous squirrel?

There’s one flame red male cardinal and he’s burying himself in the snow. Like he's laying in a bath full of airy bubbles–And there’s another one–I’ve never seen birds do this before.

I could stand at my kitchen window all day–

My desk where I write faces a wall and a small window is to my right. As I sit at my desk--lifting my head--I can see the sky and branches from the tall oak trees. This Saturday morning, I was like the birds--a little restless--so I made the decision to move a folding table to my bedroom–place it right there in front of the big window facing the Bradford pear–the branches of the pear tree holds the powdery snow–and the birds on the branches–they are too many to count.

I watch them--they watch me.

The window needs cleaning–and the snow keeps falling–the flakes are bigger now. I promised my grandson who lives further south I would send him a picture of me measuring the snow–I’ll go out soon.

The lady cardinal–she’s perched tight to the branch–her feathers puffed up–I guess she's trying to stay warm. Of all the cardinals I have seen over my lifetime–I’ve never seen one that looked like a baby. I need to look harder.

Oh, and now the red-bellied woodpecker–he’s at the feeder. The stripes on his back reminds me of a zebra’s stripes–his head crimson red like the cardinal. And don’t ever count out the blue jays–my Daddy didn’t like blue jays–said they were annoying and chased off the good birds. There’s two fighting–pecking at each other in mid-air–I tend to agree with my Daddy. Still they are welcome at the feeder.

Sammy’s gone–at least for a little while–it seems.

There’s a little bird in the tree–he turns his back to me–his colors are gray, black and white, and down the center of his back–almost covered by his wings is a small red stripe. I do a little research on him–a house finch.

According to the National Audubon Society, there are up to 20,000 different species of birds.

And this morning I sit here in my put together new writing space–the manna is still falling from heaven–the world is a gentle white and outside my window the trees are full of color–chickadees, tufted titmice, mockingbirds, blue jays, doves, woodpeckers–cardinals–and that dad-burn Sammy is back.

And I think about God as the mighty artist–our majestic Creator–how He imagined the beauty of each bird and took colors from His palette and painted–and looking at the cardinal–He said–you need one more touch of black on your beak–and as He finished His work-- as the birds were ready to take flight–He breathed on each one of them –their wings ruffled by His breath. And He said–go and fly high–and bring color and joy to my beautiful world–especially on snowy days.

By them shall the fowls of the heaven have their habitation, which sing among the branches.

Psalm 104:12

For He saith to the snow, Be thou on the earth; likewise to the small rain,

and to the great rain of His strength.

Job 37:6

Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow?

or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail?

Job 38:22

For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither,

but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud,

that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater:

Isaiah 55:10