Red birds in winter

I thought I’d show you something else I bought myself as a birthday treat. Who am I kidding that my life is not just one great internal accumulation of symbolism, or metaphor on metaphor, because if you have been reading here for a time you might recall me referring to red birds, and particularly cardinals, in winter.

It all started with Mary Oliver’s poem Red Bird (below), which reminded me of a Thomas Hardy poem I can still recite called The Darkling Thrush. Then Sara Groves sang a song called From This One Place (video below) which starts with reference to a cardinal singing outside her window. And when my Mum was getting rid of a Christmas decoration featuring cardinals, I snatched it. Then the other day I was actually looking around online for a clock for my kitchen, and I came across this cushion on sale at The Pottery Barn. I know it wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but I couldn't resist buying it (I have been looking for a cushion for some time), and when it arrived in the mail I thought it was so beautiful. It’s bigger than I thought it was going to be at the size of a standard pillow, but that is quite alright. My "living room" is cherry red and sage green, and this cushion is perfect (you can't really see in the photo but it has a tiny bit of beading on the pine cones, which is enough, and it's nicely made). I've never even seen a cardinal, but they come in winter in North America, and sound like this.

The other morning I was riding to work, feeling a little blue, when a crimson rosella, which is one of my favourite Australian birds whose song I love, landed on a branch over my path.

I now have red birds in winter on my couch.

Red Bird

Red bird came all winter

firing up the landscape

as nothing else could.

Of course I love the sparrows,

those dun-colored darlings,

so hungry and so many.

I am a God-fearing feeder of birds.

I know He has many children,

not all of them bold in spirit.

Still, for whatever reason –

perhaps because the winter is so long

and the sky so black-blue,

or perhaps because the heart narrows

as often as it opens –

I am grateful

that red bird comes all winter

firing up the landscape

as nothing else can do.

Mary Oliver