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The Birdhouse

I've been a bird house collector for a while now; my fascination with them unconsciously started about a decade ago when I moved into this house.  The previous owners had left a basic one perched on a worn out post on the west side of the yard.  Tucked in amongst a scraggly, winter-barren grove of scrub oak trees, the weathered remnants of Barn Red had caught my eye.  

I have this painting of birds.  
The painting made me pause when I saw it in the store as I started to think about the magpies that fly around at home.  Edgy & irritable - always so vocal and persistent.  The imagery flying around in my head was mesmerizing.  The rough & tough vibe of what I was seeing in the painting was drawing me into their world.  The only thing not visible in the painting was their home. 
Where was their retreat?

They probably (want to) be in a place that lets them be themselves.  A place where acceptance and understanding is the norm, where beauty lives, no matter what. 

A chalet in the mountains?  A cabin in the woods?
A mansion in Hollywood?
A townhouse in Paris?

Where truth is spoken and family gathers.  No need to explain. 
Where worries truly do melt away.  
A place where they don't have to leave their dreams.  A place where they live their dreams.

A key to enter?
Occasional neighbors?
It's all okay. 
Somewhere warm and cozy - that's where I hope they go.

A place where they can talk freely.

A place where they can feel @ peace.

Where is that place for you?

That old birdhouse is still standing.  
Those same scraggly oak branches surround it and sway in those same blustery, unforgiving winds.

Whatever home is, wherever home is...
My wish for you is that it is filled with peace and love.

















































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