I watched Mother as she sat on the back porch with her tiny binoculars and thick field guide. She’d sit there for hours raising the binoculars to her eyes and then slowly flipping through the pictures to identify the creature. I always wondered how she could find little animals that pooped everywhere so fascinating, but every sunny day she insisted on being left out back for hours.
“Don’t walk in and out,” she’d say when I checked on her. “You’re scaring them away.”
I shook my head. All that time alone staring at birds couldn’t be good for her health. She needed to be with her family, spending time with her grandchildren, not watching rats with wings.
Mother placed the binoculars gently on her nose and studied the blue jay at the feeder. She never paid that much attention to me, how I longed for her to take interest in my life, read my field guide.
I chuckled to myself as I started supper: look at me, jealous of Mother and the birds.