My dad could not have sent me this at a better time.  A truly brilliant “messenger”, Elizabeth Gilbert talks about creativity:

I’ve been missing New York a lot lately, thinking about the noise and the smells and the craziness of walking the city streets.  You just don’t find that kind of energy in Calgary, and it’s a pity, because I really thrive on it.  One thing that has kept me going, helped me push through my “wishing I were somewhere else” angst, has been a giclee print of Central Park I bought a few months ago and hung on my bedroom wall.  It’s the first thing I see in the morning (after my alarm clock, of course), and I simply can’t get enough of it.

So I thought I’d share it, and pass along some of that inspiration in the hopes that you, too, might derive – if not a creative burst, then at least a quiet appreciation – from this sight.  The photo is a bit outdated – it was taken in 1961. – and though things may have changed a bit since then, there are still plenty of places that feel as magical as this one …

New York - Central Park - 1961

… it would have to be talking with animals.  Today I rescued a cockatiel at the park.  I was watching my nephew at the playground, when my friend pointed out this bird that had landed on top of the monkey bars.  It just stood there, looking a bit … uncomfortable and confused … while all the kids and parents stared at it.  Clearly someone’s lost pet, my heart went out to the little thing and as soon as the crowd cleared, I went over and pressed my fingers to his belly.  He walked right on and settled down the minute I brought him to my chest.

I was amazed how attached I became within those few seconds!  Val and I drove him over to the emergency vet clinic and I’m sure they’ll find either the bird’s previous owners, or another even better home.  But I swear he was after my heart.

I can’t help but wonder what stories must be lurking in that tiny little head … what the little guy felt, what he saw in his moments of freedom.  He was clearly frightened – he hunkered down against my bosom and almost fell asleep when I stroked his face.  But I can’t help but think that there were moments of exhilaration, too, when the freedom to soar overpowered his need for companionship and care.

I’m still a little sick about having to give him up, but I suppose he’ll be better off in a new home than in mine, where my cat might eat him for lunch.  I’m sure Horatio (oh yeah, you bet I named him) will end up where he truly belongs.  Even so, I can’t help but wonder what if …

… what if he could have been mine.

Horatio the Little Lost Bird

Horatio Rescued

Horatio's Nemesis (and the reason I couldn't keep the little guy)