Spring shadows and first lilies.
The nuthatches have nested in the bluebird box and
the cool weather will soon be gone.
Just not quite yet.
Category Archives: birds
Springtime
Camille’s Birthday
Journal Entry
February 19, 2014
Camille’s Birthday
Oh, what a joy it is, to have a daughter!
Oh, how I can remember EXACTLY
what it was like when she was born —
the entire birth process, from waking up at 3 a.m.
when I felt the contractions start
to driving to the hospital
(and stopping for video camera cartridges)
and how the bumps in the road
triggered more contractions,
and standing in the bathroom
alone feeling a little sorry for myself,
knowing the pain that was coming,
to sitting in my bed
to try to manage my contractions
(dumb; I worked so hard at it that
I actually slowed down the birth process,
which Jack later pointed out),
to fussing at him for making noises
like crackling the newspaper and
squeaking his shoes on the floor,
to him feeding me ice chips from a styrofoam cup
to almost throwing up
from the pain and holding on to him
and then standing up and pushing with him
for three entire hours! and then seeing the crown
of her head in the mirror and summoning
the last of my strength
to push push push so they would not have to
grab her head with the suction cup
and then finally, finally out she came,
that beautiful rose-colored baby 8 pounds 9 ounces
I will never forget
and her will her indomitable will
as she lustily cried her lungs out while the poor nurses
tried to clean her up and ink her foot for a footprint,
and then wrapped in my arms again, tight
in a cotton blanket with a knit cap
in baby colors against our red and blue pillow case
behind me as I looked down at her
feeling absolutely triumphant
and Jack was outside crying
and then we were back again together
showing her off to family but
I never once never even once thought of
letting anyone else hold her
and then finally the next day my mother came
and she held her in her lap
and unwrapped the blankets so she could see
her perfect little body with her strawberry mark
on her shoulder and the dark, dark hair
covering her head, and Jack’s face
inches from hers adoring her
and we were so, so happy.
Camille Rose Guidry
February 19, 1995
9:19 p.m.
Touro Infirmary
New Orleans, Louisiana
Poem about last night
They arrived in the dark.
I’d lit candles all around the house,
except on the big table. Waiting.
Wrapped in colorful coats, holding
purses and journals and expectations,
they alighted on my doorstep.
Bird by bird.
I embraced them all,
even the strangers.
They circled around the kitchen
counter, got their drinks, and
pecked at the snacks.
Names were exchanged,
connections were made,
compliments were shared.
No one questioned why I had
a Jane Austen ball gown hanging
on my pantry door. (until later)
Then we gathered in the circle,
and breathed our collective breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The pens, and one pencil, emerged.
Some timidly, some boldly,
to scribe their words.
They were heard.
Names were dropped into the circle, like seeds.
Words, intentions, hopes and dreams were shared.
The candle flickered, and held their secrets.
They left in a flurry of jangling car keys,
re-wrapped grace scarves and last-minute questions,
and returned to the darkness from which they came.
But perhaps each carried, in their
hearts, the lit candle, a bit of warmth,
a sip of the sacred.
I cleaned up the kitchen,
went to bed, and closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, this time really opened them,
there they were, the birds, on the feeder.
Waiting for more.
Here.
In the garden.
Filed under birds, garden, gratitude, journaling, meditation, sacred, welcome, writing
inthegardenofthedivine 