fire of another kind

I pull over and my hands are shaking. I didn’t realize it had rattled me that much to accidentally be driving behind the rodeo cowboy for a few miles. I text my therapist. She understands the seriousness of it and says, “are you okay? You want to talk?” I tell her I’m okay, and will wait until we meet next. But seeing him has set me back. When I think of him, again, I can’t breathe. I’m going to drown or I’m missing air, but what I’ m missing is him. Then the tears come. It’s hard to know which part hurts most in this scenario. That I got duped so easy or that my infallible instinct failed me so horribly and had actually thought myself loved back. But I’ll get there. Fast forward a few nesting seasons and I won’t even remember his name but I’ll remember every bird’s.

Living here, in a fire-ravaged landscape, constantly reminds me things do rise from the ashes no matter how severe the fire burned. I’m about to mark my two year anniversary living at the house and I have loved watching the property’s black scars become flowers for the birds. I currently have a couple dozen quail nesting on the property. Two Steller’s Jays are nesting in the neighbor’s oak, but come feed at my yard. There are a few juvenile Black-headed grosbeaks, which are the cutest, and I never knew that Black-headed grosbeaks sang so loud and beautiful. I open up the windows and let their song come in the house before it’s gone again until next nesting season, when my fire-ravaged scars will have become flowers for the birds.