Gold Rush

First, just one appeared.
I rubbed my still sleepy eyes and looked again.  Indeed, I did see a small bird clinging to the feeder full of thistle hanging from a pole near my deck.  I thought I noticed a pale yellow breast beneath black and white wings. Could it be? I turned my back for just a moment to grab my camera. I looked again. Yes, my eyes had not deceived me.
Then there were three.
Two were distinctly bright yellow. Now I had no doubt. I grinned broadly. The long-awaited goldfinches had come. They had discovered the thistle, just as the experts had sworn they would. Through some magical communication system, word had spread.
Then there were six.
Even though I had learned that attracting backyard birds requires patience ("Lemon Tree Full of Finches" posted 12.30.12), I still had convinced myself that the promised goldfinches would not come. I had hung a cylinder of special food just for them, and nearly a month later, it remained virtually untouched.
Meanwhile, I had been delighted by the antics of house finches, white-crowned sparrows and an occasional scrub jay. Every so often one different bird or another had come by to investigate the buffet I have offered, but as a rookie, I had not yet identified them. Even a rookie, however, can identify a goldfinch, and I had not seen any.
Until today.
Today I learned once again that patience will pay off. Today I was paid in a bonanza of gold. I have struck it rich.
They behaved just as I had been told to expect. Natural acrobats, they sometimes hang upside down. They chatter and sing.  They seem quite neighborly with the house finches, even allowing them to sample the thistle if they so desire. To paraphrase Henry David Thoreau, they dance to the beat of their own drum. They travel in large flocks, which, according to those in the know, will come and go. They tire of one neighborhood and move on to another and then back again. I hope they don't tire of this neighborhood anytime soon.

My Inaugural Day Walk

   As Barack Obama formally began his second term as President of the United States today, time seemed to stop temporarily for the morning's at once solemn and joyous occasion. The nation's leaders set aside ugly politics and petty bickering to share, along with thousands of onlookers crowding the Capitol Mall,  the Obama family's celebratory moment as he took his oath of office. Using the historically significant Bible belonging to civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr., Obama spoke his promise to preserve, protect and defend the U.S. Constitution  as his wife and daughters stood by his side. Later in another proud and historic tradition, Obama and his stunning wife, First Lady Michelle Obama, stepped out of the vehicle in which they rode in the Inaugural Parade and walked along Pennsylvania Avenue on a crisp, bright afternoon in Washington, D.C. I thrilled at watching the nationally televised broadcast of all the pomp and circumstance, grateful and excited and proud to take part in my own way from so far away.
  I continued to savor the significance as I took my own Inaugural Day walk along the sea wall in Carlsbad, California, 12 short miles from where I live. As I strode along the familiar path I often take to exercise my dogs, I made a conscious effort to notice my surroundings.
  I noticed children playing in the sand, couples holding hands and whispering to one another, athletes running and biking, surfers,  occasional musicians, sun worshippers, readers, gazers at waves and an endless horizon. I noticed bees buzzing through purple statice, gulls scavenging for food scraps and pelicans swooping along the shoreline. Here a man sat at a cement bench while he ate a fast-food meal and checked his cell phone. There some technicians from a local electronics company leaned against their truck as they took a cigarette break along the oceanfront. Here a mother pushed her twin babies along the sidewalk in their stroller. There a child on a scooter whizzed through the pedestrian traffic, despite the "no skateboards, roller blades or scooters" signs posted along the way.
  This is the Carlsbad Inauguration Day Parade. This is part of the America over which Obama presides. This is a part of the America our soldiers fight to protect. This is part of the America that allows the  driver of a vehicle freedom to proclaim in signs painted all over the car "USA BECOMING A SOCIETY OF ENTITLED" and "COLLEGE IS BIG BUSINESS WASTE OF MONEY."
  All of it, even in its magnificence, reminds me of the small window through which I see the world. While a child plays in the sand here, another child in a distant land cowers from debris crashing around him after a bomb explodes nearby. While some delight in falling in love, others despair in the bitterness of divorce. While a runner sprints to prepare for a marathon, a wounded soldier learns to walk on a prosthetic leg. While a newborn enters the world, an elder passes into another realm. While someone prays, another blasphemes. While sun shines, snow falls. It is beyond my comprehension.
  And so, in my minute portion of life on this planet, I do solemnly swear to uphold and preserve the life and wellbeing of that which I encounter each day.

Tomorrow comes

  I had experienced the magnificent stage production of "Les Miserables" in three different venues over several years. I had fallen in love with its divine music. I had marveled at the masterful energy of those who collaborated to create the modern score based on Victor Hugo's 1862 novel.  I had recognized the timelessness of Hugo's masterpiece of social injustice, which he set in the backdrop of the bloody and daring French Revolution. I had conversed with a local actress who had been cast in the role of Fantine on Broadway about the emotional demands of performing show after show after show. I had wept at the sheer magnificence of the story's portrayal of abuse, despair, hope, forgiveness and redemption.

 New Year's Day sunset

  Thus I should have been prepared for the new film starring Hugh Jackman as protagonist Jean Valjean. I should have been prepared for the grip upon my heart as the story touched upon the whole of human experience -- family, love, friendship, war, poverty, rage, desperation, fear, joy, faith and hope.
  I was not.
  As the drama unfolded on screen, magnifying the story's passions hundredfold when cameras focused on close-ups of the characters, I lost myself in raw emotion. As Jackman sang "Bring Him Home," I  thought of my son who had just departed from spending time with me at his childhood home and was en route to his adult home on another continent. I thought of the value of abiding friendships as Eddie Redmayne, in the role of Marius, sang "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables."  I thought of the joy of falling in love and wretched pain of love lost as Anne Hathaway, portraying Fantine, sang "I Dreamed a Dream." I thought of today's social issues and friends who fight for justice as the ensemble sang "One Day More." And I thought of my need, our universal need, for the essential truths of forgiveness, faith and hope during the finale, which assures us that "tomorrow comes".
  While the sun sets on this New Year's Day, I feel peace in the finale's promise that "even the darkest nights will end and the sun will rise."  Earlier, this day of traditional reflection and hopeful resolve took a sudden turn. This customary day of new beginnings brought news of drastic endings. A family member had died in the night as the result of a car striking her in a tragic accident. A professional colleague and friend  had passed unexpectedly and quickly from this life  early this morning as his weakened body refused to rally from flu-like symptoms. As the news spread, those of us close to them not only reacted in shock and grief, but turned to one another in support. We know that "love is everlasting" and "to love another person is to see the face of God." We know, in the golden glow of dusk, tomorrow comes with hope and casts away the unknowns and doubts of today.
  Hugo and the lyricists had it right.