Yesterday, this little girl (the one who lost her first tooth) brings home a homemade bird feeder. She announces that the bagel was “a rotten one, leftover from her teacher’s kitchen,” and the birdseed and spread cannot be eaten by humans.
We hang the bird feeder on the winterberry bush. And we wait.
We wait, wait, and wait some more.
I read somewhere that it takes backyard birds a few days to find a new feeder.
No birds yet. But the desiring of them, the wait, delights us.
We remember another wait, last April, for a hibernating turtle to emerge from underneath our deck. It feels just like that, this waiting, and we love it.
It feels like the wait for a first loose tooth.
I want to construct more apparatuses designed to teach me the beauty of hope. A backyard bird feeder reminds me to hope today. I wait patiently with my daughters, peer into the landscape ahead, and keep our longing alive. Tomorrow might be the day!
Journal: What am I hoping for, and how do I keep my hope alive?