THE HAND OF SNACKS

There is a woman who feeds birds every day.

Every day, I watch her videos, a centering

ritual only birds can force me into. As they

land on the hand of snacks, a feast-laden

palm of suet and peanuts, sunflower and

pumpkin seeds, walnuts and almonds, 

the birds coach me without charging 

any fee. I watch them pick food and learn 

how enthralling it is to be in your own skin.

The black bird cares little for geniality as it 

lunges into the snack bar with energetic wing 

flapping. With their high-pitched ruckus, blue 

jays stave off other feathered beings from the 

seed-and-nut buffet. A downy woodpecker picks 

his nut and before he can enjoy it, the tree 

behind the hand draws its eye.The bird goes 

into a lengthy contemplation. Is the bark worthy

of its pecking, is that a safe spot to burrow in? 

Chickadees and tufted titmice alight with their 

tiny appetites and goofy perspectives. Like 

paying overwhelming attention to the suet

nugget they accidentally kicked off the hand,

with sad eyes pleading guilty to this hapless

mishap. But mostly what the birds, even the

aggressive, territorial ones, tell me when they 

perch on this munificent hand is how feeding 

on just what you need for the day is enough.

Always. That you don't have to sit and grab 

everything on offer, all at once. That the kind 

hand of snacks will return tomorrow, 

stacked with fresh blessings.