Old Friends . . .

"A good friend is a connection to life - a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world." ~Lois Wyse

   Cleaning out my files, I found so many letters I have saved through the years from friends and relatives. Many of those people are gone from my life - perhaps a divorce many years ago or a death.  But they are all folks who touched my life in so many ways, and I honestly cannot bear to get rid of any of them. Some friends suggested that I use them in some art projects, so that is what I will do.  As I run my hands over each letter, it is as though  a moment in time is captured forever. I do not need to read the letters, for I can gain my sense of my friend just by that comforting touch. I will laugh silently to myself, or perhaps a tear will come from my eye as I remember some truly touching time spent as we perhaps cried or shared a sorrow together.

   Letter writing is truly an art. There was a genuine joy in waiting with anticipation for the postman to come, then looking into the mailbox with a sense of getting a treasure.  The letter was generally carried to the house, where I delayed its opening a little longer, perhaps fixing a cup of coffee or tea to sip while I read it.  And then I would open it carefully, and pour over those words.  I would look at the handwriting and somehow understand if my friend or relative was well or not, even if the words went unwritten. Each word had a meaning beyond what was actually on the page. Some words carried a color within them that I was clearly able to see, and others perhaps a flavor or a scent, or an emotion unspoken and yet coming through clearly. 

   I am so happy that I have those sweet memories.  I am so glad I can look back on my life and time spent with those friends and others - it adds a richness to each passing day. I am going to look forward to sharing the art I create from "The Art of Writing." The colorful mailbox is mine and I painted it in this way about a month ago with the help of a little four-year-old grandson of a neighbor. If you click on any of the photos, they will become larger for viewing. The hands are from a 2006 journal quilt I made and somehow they seemed appropriate. They are photo transfers of my actual hands, and originally, the hands acted as a clasp for a quilt that opened to expose a different scene. I used the hands art because it reminded me of the hands carefully opening a letter to expose a little of the soul of a good friend.

Death of a Hummingbird . . .

   Today when I got back from the mountains where I attended a big quilt show, I went over by our clubhouse to water the plants as I do normally every other day. Suddenly I spotted something moving and trying to get away from something I couldn't see. When I got close, it was a hummingbird, a small one, on the pavement, and the ants were after it.  I immediately picked it up, took it inside the clubhouse and carefully hand cleaned any ants off of it with warm water.  Then I dried it off and took it home.
   Once home, I made a makeshift "nest" to keep the little bird warm lest it be in shock. Then I hung the hummingbird feeder next to it and tried to get it to take a little nourishment lest it be dehydrated. Through much of the day, I stayed with it, trying to coax it to get better from whatever had befallen it. At times, it seemed as though it was rallying around, sipping the nectar with its tongue as I would help it to drink from the feeder. I felt certain that it was improving.
   But as suddenly as I first found it, it slipped away, its little tongue gently out in a beautiful little sad arc.
   I have placed it gently into a tiny ceramic birdhouse lined with cotton balls and it is still seeming to drink from the feeder. I just can't seem to let it go without some sort of homage to it, even if it be temporary. Poor dear little soul.

   Hummingbirds have found their way into much art, poetry and other writing. I can see why. They are such endearing birds, perhaps because they are so tiny and so seemingly fragile, though they can actually be quite aggressive when they are defending their territory. Sometimes they are immensely curious as well, coming right up close to other animals or people with seemingly no fear. They will look for a long time, as if trying to get to know the nature of something better, or perhaps they are trying to look into our very souls.
   I found this beautiful poem about hummingbirds, and it seems a fitting goodbye to my tiny little friend.

And the humming-bird that hung
Like a jewel up among
The tilted honeysuckle horns
They mesmerized and swung
In the palpitating air,
Drowsed with odors strange and rare.
And, with whispered laughter, slipped away
And left him hanging there.
- James Whitcomb Riley