Every Sunday for the year following the fire, I drove up to where my home had been…to stand and look out at the ocean from where my bedroom window used to be….to feel the wind….to sit with my fig tree….to digest and heal. I had not been back up there since this past January 7th until today. A stunningly bright beautiful warm wafty day.
For the almost nine years that I lived in my Malibu nest, every morning I would open my window wide and ‘my’ birds would come. It was magical. They came and sat on my fence and we said good morning and visited. During my last year a hawk joined. He was powerful and beautiful and I felt honored.
One of my greatest heartbreaks to having this chapter swept away, was this morning ritual.My birds.
Today I drove up, parked and stepped out into the wind and the silence of no humans, only nature and my whole self was so filled that tears pushed up and out like a gushing waterfall. And then a crow came and sat next to me. A crow. Not in my usual flock. And it squawked. I said hello. It squawked again. I said hello again. And then it flew away and a hawk circled. I watched it circle and circle and then it came down. It landed right in front of of me. I could hardly breathe. I said hello and I knew that it was my hawk. We sat and looked at each other for a long while, and then up it went. I stayed for two hours and when I drove back down to the main road, the hawk circled and flew above me.
What an incredible world.