I slept in on Sunday after I woke at 5:15am to feed the dumb cats. When I got out of bed around 7:45, this time by my choice, the light out back was glorious — a dazzling golden light on a crisp October morning. It shone on the bronze blades of ornamental grasses, on the yellow flowers of the rudbeckia, on the oak with its coppery leaves, the magenta coneflowers, burgundy mums, and scarlet pineapple sage.
I refilled the bird feeders Saturday, so in that peaceful morning light, it was like Wild Kingdom in our yard. I opened the sliding glass door to move the screen door over so I could see out the clear glass panel instead of the clouded one. At the sound of the heavy door sliding open, the squirrel on the hanging feeder scurried up into the oak, causing the heavy feeder to swing madly while all the ground doves scattered in a flutter of grey-brown wings.
I ate oatmeal and drank coffee at the kitchen table and watched birds: goldfinches, house finches, blue jays, cardinals. They flew from oak to fence to ground to maple to other oak. They darted to the platform feeder, they shook branches as they fluttered, took off, landed. Doves ran across the mulch, a goldfinch perched on the trellis for the passion vine. A bright red cardinal scavenged seed from the ground near the platform feeder, under the rue and the Mexican feather grass. Blue jays swept across the flower bed with wings spread to land on the feeder, the fence, a tree branch.
I love my garden. Sometimes I have to laugh, though, that I spend my free time watching squirrels and birds. All I need now is a rocking chair.