"THE SOUND OF HUMMING BIRD WINGS"

I got a Facebook message tonight from a good friends daughter.
"Steve, call me please" along with her number.
And you know a message like that can't be good.
I called.
"She's gone" Dawn said. "Mama is gone."
I've known her mama Cyndy since I dated her in1973, Cyndy had lost her son to a suicide a few years ago. She was a handful before she lost her son, and barely kept it together since then.
She delighted in nature, and lived on a lake, and owned one of these exotic cats from Persia or something. Here is a response from her to a comment I made a few weeks ago concerning one of her posts:


"There's a place I love to visit deep into the nature trail. It's a small pond and on the top it has a sort of green moss. I forget what it's called but I'm sure Tom McMurray, could tell me. 
When I go there, I sit in silence, with the fruits of nature surrounding me. The pond remains undisturbed for the most part. 
If you can imagine that small pond without one ripple of water, and can become one with it, it clears your mind. 
I carry that image with me as a form of meditation. 
I regulate my breathing shut my eyes and I can journey down the path, take whatever's bothering me and imagine placing it in my back pack and leaving it on a log and then continue my journey before I reach the pond where there is stillness of the water. 
I find no discord with animals in nature. It's humans interaction that I fall short. 
In nature I can hear a cotton wood tree in the gentle breeze before I see one. The sound of humming bird wings. 
I've been watching the lake melt and freeze up and melt while watching the great blue heron fish. 

Most people don't agree that I have such an exotic cat. But I know that special and odd cat. My soul tells me in a visceral way, that we were made for each other. 
She does things that I cannot describe in spoken words without murdering the English language. 
I can look into her green eyes that go fathoms deep and she looks into my eyes the same way. Spectacular friend and although wild and exotic, I'm somewhat a unusual breed of person myself. We are both exotic and unusual. We are one but separate. 

Once the great blue heron has left, I will go feed the ducks. 
The great white egrets have moved on for the season. I'm waiting to spot a cormorant. 

When I started planting for bird life rather than just flowers and common bushes, they told me I was hooked.
Oh, look! A cormorant!"

I told Cyndy when she posted this comment that it was pure poetry. I know she didnt try to write a poem. It just fell out of her, the way things, beautuiful things fall out of us from time to time.
Goodnight Cyndy. You was just too human.