The Woodpeckers’ Flight
Love Heals All — BUHUB Contest
Inside a bed of wood shavings, inside a chiseled hole, inside a furrowed trunk, inside a stand of aspen trees, inside a fenced-off pasture, lay four newly hatched woodpecker chicks. They incessantly chirped and cried to be fed.
Outside the woodpeckers’ roost hole, next to the aspen trunk, on top of a granite boulder, in the light of the evening sun, surrounded by the song of grasshoppers, sat a person with slumped shoulders. She sighed her frustration into the wind.
The events of the week replayed in her mind. The quivering voice that she had raised. The carefully chosen words that she had uttered. The feeling of utter desperation to be understood. Only to have her words dismissed, her feelings negated and her point of view ridiculed. Another dreaded week was about to begin. As if pinned down and squeezed by an invisible force, the days ahead felt dark and hopeless.
The days of spring flurry progressed. The incessant cries of the woodpecker chicks steadily grew louder and stronger. The woodpecker parents’ tireless flights, back and forth to the roost hole, brought continuous supplies of nourishment. The bees hummed, the grasshoppers sang and the flowers spread their petals.
The person with the slumped shoulders revisited her granite boulder. She moved with heavy limbs and laborious breathing. The dark and hopeless days had taken their toll, exhausting her body, mind and soul. Her attempts to make amends and compromise had fallen flat. Her anger had flared, and cold shoulders given in return. The tight ball that had formed in her gut had intensified its grip.
She watched the woodpecker parents shuttle back and forth. All evening, she watched them. Seemingly without a break, they continued. All day, every day, day after day, week after week, they continued their relentless pursuit of seeds and insects. All to feed their precious young.
“The power of love” her heart whispered. “This is action propelled by the power of love”.
The woodpecker chicks grew, more flowers bloomed and the bees were busier than ever. The person returned to her granite boulder. With relaxed shoulders, she sat down and leaned back, placing her hands behind her on the rough, warm surface. The tight ball in her stomach had begun to unclench. The events of the week replayed in her mind.
The hot cup of tea that had been brewed for her. The encouraging message. The sympathetic ear that had patiently listened. The smile of a stranger, the friendly cashier and the attentive neighbor’s helping hand. Despite of it all, acts of love had been there. Love had found her when she had allowed herself to accept it. Love had surrounded her when she allowed herself to listen.
And then it struck her: the incessant cries of the woodpecker chicks were gone. The little roosting hole was quiet.
A sense of loss and sadness enveloped her. She loved those woodpecker chicks. And now they had flown out of her life.
But hope and love remained as she perched on her granite boulder. She imagined four little woodpecker fledglings embarking on their adult woodpecker lives. Maybe, one day, one of them would return to the aspen stand and raise chicks of their own.
Maybe, just maybe, the week ahead would be a good one. She rose to her feet and walked away from her granite boulder. The breeze playfully caressed her cheek, and the evening sun bathed her back in its loving light.
