by Laura Parker Roerden
I always kneel
when I fill the bird feeder. It’s the only way
to hold the long, thin tube upright,
while also scooping seeds with cupped hands.
I hold the feeder steady between my knees,
and let the seeds flow slowly through my palms
as if water. The notice on the feed bag boasts of variety:
white prosco millet, black oil sunflower, milo and safflower.
A brilliant mix of pale yellows and mud browns
in sizes and markings so varied I could spend a lifetime
trying to understand how everything in nature
is so particular and purposeful;
a key meant for one specific door.
I will leave these seeds
for the sparrows and chickadees,
nut hatches, cardinals, and blue jays,
the cedar wax wings and the red crested woodpeckers,
who will pick through them for their favorites,
leaving the rest for others. They will then extract the sunlight
and pith they need to fly, carrying husks and undigested potential
to faraway lands like ribbons of new life come spring.
The seeds are meant for the birds,
yet I gather them close
first as a way of remembering the rooms upon rooms
within which nature invites us to wander
and the suggestion that our hearts too open
to partake of nourishment in darkness,
as nature’s unfurling march of diversity
is also one name for light.
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Laura Parker Roerden is the founding director of Ocean Matters and the former managing editor of Educators for Social Responsibility and New Designs for Youth Development. She serves on the boards of Women Working for Oceans (W20) and Earth, Ltd. and is a member of the Pleiades Network of Women.