Over the past few years, I have been called outdoors with increasing frequency by specific “people”:
Golden Giving Tree
Red Newt
Wily Coyote
my beloved Hemlock
Junco Nestlings
Bloedel Deer
Pear Tree
trickling, flowing, ebbing – Stream, Waterfall, Tidewaters
the Violet Greens Octad (swallows)
Towhee
Mr. and Mrs. Bald Eagle
Autumn Breeze
Blue Dragonfly Beauty
and so, so, so many others …
“Called”? Yes. Asked, enticed, encouraged, made aware of. Immediately filled with awe at the sound, gesture, sight, or suddenness of someone. Suddenly hearing words of welcome or request from an individual. Being undeniably asked to come closer and just bear witness to his beauty.
Summoned to pay attention, to drop what I’m doing and go outside, or nearer Them – if I’m already outside. Called to climb under the canopy, stare at a nest, rescue a net-trapped deer or insect, silence my thoughts and still my movement to embrace pure presence with another. To hold; to caress; to bury the deceased. And to listen.
It happened again this week; thrice: I was called. Enjoying the first sips of coffee inside (after having already spent time minutes ago barefoot on the frosty deck to savor the first sips of morning air, voluminous birdsong, and play of sunlight through cloud fingers), I was called:
Robin was outside singing her full-throated spring melody and I heard, Come out here. I admittedly thought, But hey. I was just out there already this morning. She replied, So, when ARE you going to live your bliss? Today, right now, IS your life. Don't wait. Come to me. Now.
Dutifully, but also in awe of her clearness – and a little bit afraid of the consequences if I didn’t actually go out there right then (at the very least, a missed opportunity) – I went outside.
Robin was nowhere to be found. I could hear her clear, loud song and knew in which direction to look. But she wasn’t on that lilac bush or on the fence behind it. I listened a while and thanked her.
This entire encounter repeated itself the next morning: Robin called, I went out and she wouldn’t make herself visible to me. I listened with closed eyes, expressed gratitude, went back inside.
The third morning: the same routine. But a few hours later I heard her joyful song coming from the sad little sapling to the north. I glanced out that side window and spotted her! I ran to the front door but then slowly, quietly sneaked outside. I poked my head around the corner of the house to see her in person. And as if she didn’t like that I’d finally found her, she pivoted on the thin branch and flew out of sight.
Though I don’t claim to understand this apparent hide and seek adventure, I embrace it. Fully. I giggled and enjoyed it.
And if Robin (or anyone else) summons me again tomorrow, or in a few minutes, or next week, I will heed the call. The call to this moment now, to this life.
