The Gift of Rain

My birthday was last week and lets just say, I can spend a year singing the Beatles song, “When I’m 64”!  Two of the best gifts I got, cost nothing, and were delivered right to my door, actually, right to my window.

The first one was rain.  Rain that started with wild thunderstorms, but than, rather than just blowing over, stayed, and became that steady rain that soaks the ground in a productive way. A “New England” rain that comes with a cold wind and is delightfully miserable, giving you permission to putter around the house and accrue no guilt.

I know, many of you are wondering, “Why would anyone feel guilty about working around the house?”  You wouldn’t.  However, for some reason, and I used to blame growing up in a place that doesn’t promise daily sunshine (Boston), I am wired to feel, if it is sunny out, I should be out “playing”.  My first move was to San Diego, the land of daily sun, and it about killed me!  Luckily, I worked outdoors at Sea World, so it was easy to follow the urge to be “out”.

Here in Texas, a lasting rain is what I missed most, but this winter has served up some lovely gray, rainy days.  I hope that bodes well for this years wildflowers.

My second “gift” arrived right out the window on my very birthday.  A Coopers hawk, hunkered on a limb of a grand live oak, looking less happy about the rain than I was.  Less happy about the cold wind, too, I imagine.

This is a hawk that loves the fact that we feed the birds, drawing them together in a nice little “fast food” bunch.  However, it must rely on the “element of surprise” for it is amazing how instantly the birds stop their contact calls and go into hiding as soon as one of them spots the hawk.  A warning call is given and they duck for cover, following an inner code of “Nobody moves. Nobody dies.” 

I was amazed that the hawk was on a branch that concealed nothing.  I could see him, the birds could see him, yet the way he constantly swiveled his head, surveying the scene for any movement, I had to assume he was on the hunt.  The Italian in me wished I had a little something to throw him, but nothing in my bird-feeding arsenal would be appropriate. 

There was one plump White winged dove staying perfectly still at the base of a fence covered with jasmine vines.  I momentarily thought of knocking on the window for, if it was startled, it would have flown up right under the hawk’s nose, but that didn’t seem ethical.  Even though I have a trillion white winged doves eating their weight in seed several times a day, and one less dove would not be a tragedy.  I realized though, that it seemed better to let the predator and prey work things out for themselves. 

The hawk did finally take off for a more concealed location higher in the tree, but whether he was successful in securing his form of breakfast burrito, I don’t know.   I sometimes find the exploded puffs of feathers on the ground that let me know breakfast was successful, but I didn’t see any such sign that day.

So, perhaps, the sighting WAS just a birthday present sent my way.  There’s an egocentric view for you; the rain and the hawk were all for ME!  It’s a touching thought, a God who knows me inside and out would know what perfect gifts they were.

That was last week.  Ironically, if I had time for another blog, it would be “The Gift of Sun” which, without the rain, wouldn’t seem like a gift at all.  To say nothing of the fact that while the sun was shining in Texas and practically bringing on a sweat, my beloved Cape was being pounded and reshaped by a blizzard named Juno.  But that is a tale for another day.