I bought a green glass bird feeder. Hung it in the backyard to honor birdmanmac, my complicated dad. Filled it with songbird seed. And waited. Checked it everyday until at last a spider spun a web across the surface. Brushed it away, waited more.
On the first anniversary of the day he died, a small miracle. A lone chickadee darted from leafy overhang to steal a seed. Quick quick, back and forth. A test, a testament, while the feeder danced and spun. Safe. Called to his birdkin.
Today a banditry of birds sings among the treetops for me. For him.