Today it wasn't a cardinal that crossed my path but an American goldfinch not buff but canary yellow unmistakably male first alighting on burdock and then pumping himself into a pine having greeted the cardinal in similar ways in days gone by I was prepared for the surprise of the wild canary and paused to take in this little gift sure to keep the ribbon and the wrappings with the image and the feelings tucked into the pocket of my anorak safe with my notebook there to trigger my memory were she forgetful or stubborn beyond the forgivable laziness and Spanish onion skin that is memory.

The city mover beat me to the chicory this evening maybe if I had passed by earlier I could have caught a glimpse of them but they will rise Phoenix like from the close cropped pile of grass and weed and present their brash and uneven beauty once again before the need for carpet and trimming loops of magic made by subterranean rug weavers is once again mandated and duly executed by the city crew in the burnt orange cabs of their ride along mowers browning the backs of their hands and letting the heat weather beat their faces to match the cabs and fulfill some unspoken contract between landscaping and maintenance and the gods of Chance Fortune as ever favouring the bold there will be other routs of the mover before the Summer is done and more rain hopefully if I can contain the fear of thunderheads building and more returns of visible biodiversity Nature never surrenders unconditionally but like a lover choosing her battl...

If you don't have an alarm clock and want to be woken up naturally, you can always leave your window open at night and rise to the song of sparrows.  But that happens very early.  If you manage to sleep through that, the snooze bar option is the call of the cardinal.  The cardinal seems to be a late riser, singing for his mate at about half 9 of a morning. and doing that on and off until about a quarter of 9 of an evening.  Mate feeding among cardinals is rather touching, and takes place in a sturdy oak around the corner.  How like parrots they look at they kiss beaks. Somehow a sparrow met his end flying into the plexiglass of a bus shelter on Heron Road.  Matthew 10:29 says in comfort "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall no fall on the ground without your Father".  He sees every sparrow fall.

The cardinals were extra loud today, high in the cedars that line my street. I don't know what's special about today--maybe it's because the Papa is replacing 13 disgraced Chilean cardinals in June. Or maybe it was just that the sun was out after two days of rain. Or maybe it was none of these, just the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.