Every morning, as I sit at my kitchen table putting up my blog post and sipping on strong tea, a robin comes near the back porch to meet its reflection in an upside-down chrome dog bowl. The robin does a little dance in front of the bowl. The reflection does a dance back to the robin.
I could move the bowl. It’s a little tacky to have it there near my beautiful Anderson sliding door. But at this point, I don’t want to take away the robin’s dancing buddy.
I can see a lot out of my slider — the fountain where a red headed hummingbird takes a bath in the icy water bubbling out of the top. Or the pair of mourning doves that bathe one at a time while the other keeps watch for danger.
The squirrels come around, waiting for the birds to drop seeds from the feeder. One squirrel used to climb up the screen on the kitchen window and then hurl himself toward the feeder. Imagine his surprise after I took off the screen, and he went sliding down the glass.
The ugly crows come to my fountain, too. They are so much bigger than the song birds, and I hate their squawks. Ever since the towering Eucalyptus tree in the greenbelt was cut down, there have fewer of them around.
The finches come onto the porch and rest on the planted pots, the cast iron frogs, and the shelf for the hanging trowels. My dogs look at them from their beds by the sliding door. Yes, they want to chase the finches off the porch, but it’s too much work after breakfast.
It is quiet at the kitchen table. The only sounds are the furnace running and a jet passing overhead. There has been a Facebook post circulating that the brain needs quiet to generate new cells. Researchers have proven it in mice.
I am a big fan of quiet. Now that my sister lives with me, the TV is on from morning to night. She isn’t up yet. I savor the peace in the house right now.
I think I’ll make another cup of tea.