It’s kind of crazy how often it happens.
I climb out of bed, brush my teeth, then make my way to the kitchen for a wake-me-up cup of coffee. Interested in what the morning has brought to Bickley’s Pond, I inevitably step toward the big window that looks out over our back yard to check it out. Sure enough, there he’ll be, hanging out at the top of the Pin Oak just beyond the bird feeders.
Hello my friend I say. He turns toward the window and gives me a considered look. Then in one brisk motion (and with what seems no effort at all), he’ll up and fly away.
Morning after morning it happens, this Mockingbird exchange. What I find curious about it all is the fact I’ve never once seen him at the feeder or on the ground beneath, where seeds inevitably scatter. He’s just hanging out there in that tree, where he has a good view of our part of the world—and a good view in, at me.
And then there is this. I clip the leash to Little Bit’s collar and head up the long driveway for a walk. More often than not, guess who meets us there at the mailbox.
At the end of a long work day I pull my car in and there he is, perched atop the Confederate Jasmine that lines the driveway. Hello there I smile, happy to be welcomed, happy to be home.
I know, I know, let me just say. I know it is characteristic of a Mockingbird to be territorial, to make his presence known. But this guy, somehow he’s let me know there’s more to the story than that.
He’s not just watching. He’s watching over.
I am grateful.