Another try
Due to technical glitches something messed up my yesterday's post. I am trying again.
I remember very well the day I saw my first what was then still called Flemish Jay'.
I was about seven years old and stood at the window looking out.
On the dirt road in front of our house sat a beautiful pink bird with silver-blue feathers on its wings.
I called my father. I always called them when I wanted to know something or talk about something.
"Father, father," I cried. In our home, we called our parents by what they were. We called our mother mother and our father father.
We found something beautiful in that.
Father looked up from his newspaper.
"Look what a beautiful bird. I've never seen anything like it.”
Father came to the window.
"That's a Jay," he said and went back to his paper.
I didn't see them often anymore and I never saw them for a long time.
Until my father passed away.
After his death, I started to see Jay again. The word Flemish had been removed, the Jay was now called Gaai. For me, the Jay was (and still is) inextricably linked to my father. I can remember every time I saw one, in the woods or in the park.
Once I was staring out of a friend's house in a gloomy mood. A Jay came and sat in the tree in front of her window and looked at me and continued to do so for at least an hour. It was without a doubt my father who gave me encouragement.
A week ago, I saw two in my garden.
And just now as I was having my lunch in the garden, a jay flew in and sat on the branch of the cherry. Soon after, he flew to the fat ball holder and started pecking at it. I tried to take pictures with my phone which usually failed. With a piece of fat in its beak, he or she flew off to another jay that was perched on the cherry branch and fed the other jay the piece of fat.
My happiness was immeasurable
Two jays in my yard.