Sunday Scribblings: Wings

Butterflies have wings, and butterflies are my favorite little creatures, but recently my life has been all about birds.
The bird thing started when my husband built a birdhouse just outside our bedroom window, and I have been awed by what pleasure the birds who come to visit bring me, while I'm folding laundry, or just waking up.
Then there was the pigeon with the broken wing who was being tormented by a crow. I went to try and scare the crow away, and the pigeon came up to me and sat on my foot-- a sure sign I was meant to save him. I carried the pigeon home in my arms and (after taking a thorough shower) gave him water and birdseed and a little home in the treehouse where he could be safe from cats and other beautiful creatures with misguided intentions. Sadly, the pigeon died, probably of fright. Still, I hope, a kinder death than being picked apart by claws and teeth.
several nights later, out at dinner with my family, a thousand birds flew to the trees above where we sat eating. I put my hoodie hood over my head and most of the diners moved inside. It felt mysterious and strange, the night sky purple and the thin tree branches heavy with all that life.
Now, and without me quite realizing it, birds are showing up in my art, and in the titles I choose to give my blog. I have a wreath of white feathers in my bedroom. and just now a flock flew up from the telephone wires, that alarming crash of wing and bone.