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 at this beautiful bird. I've never seen anything like it.”
Father came to the window.
"That's a Flemish Jay," he said, and went back to his paper.
I didn't see them often and I didn't see one at all for an exceptionally long time.
Until my father passed away. After his death, I started to see the Jay again. The word Flemish had been removed, the Jay was now called Jay and for me the Jay was inextricably linked to my father.
I can remember every time I saw one, sometimes flying from branch to branch in the woods or in the park. Once I was staring out of a friend's house in a gloomy mood until 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 eating in the garden, a jay flew in and sat on the branch of the cherry tree. Shortly after this he or she flew to the fat ball holder and started pecking at it. I tried to take pictures with my phone which mostly 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 unmeasurable
Two jays in my yard.
h 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 luck couldn't stop.
Two jays in my yard.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 luck couldn't stop.
Two jays in my yard.
I still remember very well the day I had my first what was then still called a '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 him 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 Flemish Jay," he said, and went back to his paper.
I didn't see them often and I didn't see one at all for an exceptionally long time.
Until my father passed away and after his death, I started to see the Jay again. The word Flemish had been removed, the Jay was now called Jay and for me the Jay was and is inextricably linked to my father.
I can remember every time I saw one, sometimes in the woods or in the park. Once I was staring out of a friend's house in a gloomy mood until 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 eating in the garden, a jay flew in and sat on the branch of the cherry tree. Shortly after this he or she 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.
I know things are double but I can not change it.....