I get this from my mom. I remember as a child, my mom having lots of bird houses out in our backyard. I remember her throwing out stale bread crumbs and how the birds in Ohio, most cardinals and blue jays would flock around for the food. I remember in the spring finding the small particles of nesting materials in the small holes of the bird houses and then anxiously waiting until we heard the small chirps of baby birds.
Nothing brings me more joy than feeding the birds, sitting at dusk with a glass of merlot or iced tea, watching the variety of birds come to feast at my bird buffet, nestled gently among the branches of a Granny Smith apple tree in my backyard.
There is something magical about these little creatures of flight. They way they come and go, so quickly. How they patiently wait for us humans to go away before they alight on the perch of the feeder and tentatively and suspiciously consume the food we have generously put out for them.
I find delight in the color of the cardinals, the territorial nature and squawk of the blue jays and the aerodynamics of the ruby-throated hummingbirds. I have sat for hours watching them, quietly contemplating nature, finishing my day thoroughly relaxed.