Birthday Reflections

Oropendula, black birds with neon yellow tails and beaks, swish in and out of the immortelle tree in the yard. The tree's bright orange flowers seem more vivid against morning's blue sky. The oripendula have a distinctive deep, clucking sound unlike the chirps and trills of the other birds in the surrounding trees. When they fly off three or four at a time, their beating wings sound like softened helicopter whirls.

The sun is out and illuminates the wide, light green blades around the sugar cane growing next to the outside kitchen where I sit at the picnic table and write. Clouds and some of the left over morning mist gather at the top of the densely forested hills to my right. They cast shadows adjacent to the sunny patches making a quilt of light and dark on the ridge.The water tank to my left sprouts a mossy growth on its otherwise stark cement base. I drink sorrel punch made from the red sorrel flower. It's magical to me to drink flowers like some giant bee.

The birds have flown now, driven to cooler shaded spots by the tropical sun. Their songs are replaced by a flock of wild parrots flying oerhead with their harsh, remarkably loud cries. Have they no predators that they can be so loud and colorful?

Today is my birthday. I'm 65. It feels like a momentous age. Unlike the creatures around me, I'm aware of this life stage shift and I take stock of where I am and where I'm going. For years I've kept a self-discovery art journal inspired by my good friend, Annee. I take a few blank pages of this journal and pick out whatever magazine pictures or words that catch my eye and put them in a current moment snapshot collage. Or as Annee would say, whatever calls to me. I do this two or three times a year to visually represent what's up for me. It's always a meaningful process for me and I love to review these pages and see how they portend or document personal shifts and changes in my life. After my quiet time today, I did one and then arranged it on the picnic table in the outside kitchen since I don't have my journal with me. I like doing this. I'm not an artist but this fulfills my yearning to find other ways into myself through art.

The clouds on the hill have spilled down to me. I can hear the rain in the distance as it moves closer. In minutes the day has gone from blue, sunny skies to pouring down, drenching rain. The sound went from lovely to deafening as it pounds the corregated metal roof that keeps me dry. Minutes later, the sky clears and the sun reappears as if the rain never happened.

This peaceful day has taught me once again to show up, pay close attention and tell my truth. I trust all answers for this life stage will emerge from this.