Nature is busy this morning

I was just sitting by my computer putting off writing when a neighbor cat showed up outside my French doors. He (who knows!) has a black coat and beautiful chartreuse eyes. He played around on the back deck and then spied, probably a squirrel, stood stock still then went off. I came outside and looked for him.

In Oregon there was a neighbor cat (there were many in fact) that used to prowl around. My roommate called him Frank (maybe he called all of the outside cats Frank). We kept our doors open as we rarely used the heat and there was no AC, One time Frank just walked in. Because of my daughter’s cats, I am not inviting this cat indoors or habituating it by petting it or trying to pick up. (We just got done with running to the vet for anxiety-ridden Cato).

Anyway, while out on the deck I heard a flapping of wings, much like the sound my underarms make when I run. I looked up and saw a black crow overhead with a twig or pieces of grass in its beak. I thought if I were Mary Oliver all this observing would be a poem.

Then I remembered just yesterday observing the tree right outside my door adjacent to the deck and my French doors. Yes, it is just the beginning of March, but there are hard little buds at the end of twiggy branches, buds set to open very soon. I was reminded that spring is coming.

Whoosh, as I’m typing I thought “Frank” was back. Out of the corner of my eye I spied black furtive movement—it was a black squirrel. I’d seen him earlier scurrying up a tree—perhaps chased by Frank.

All this nature, busy this morning. There must be a poem here, a story. Some kind of connection I can make. Maybe I’ll start by holding each of these in my heart.