Where The Wild Flowers Grow

For Azul
January 13, 2019

My eyes are glassy. I'm deep in thought, as if I'd already crossed the ocean. For a second, the past and the present have been fused into one swirling scene.

At home on the mainland, I can see myself. Coffee in hand. Greeting the wildflowers out the front window.

And Azul. My forever peach-faced lovebird.

You may remember. He is one of the guys in my life. Subject of a blog way back in September 2017. 

He has just swung down from his bird house, a DIY-ed project featured in the Home, Tweet Home posting prior to this one. He's nibbling millet and his favorite sunflower seeds. I chat with him about the weather, divulging, It rained last night, Azul, as if he wouldn't know, even though from his perch he has a panoramic view of the outside world through the glass window. He glances at me, but continues to crack open a stubborn sunflower shell. I try to humor him with a sunny prediction, Azul, it's going to be a nice day today. His response is always nonchalant, a small, Chirp. Why do I always comment on the obvious?

Each day, it is just me and Azul and sunshine dappling the flowers.

Then, day turns to night and quickly into dawn though I don't notice the change until it has already passed, as if I'd been a sleepwalker awakened by the sunlight. In the distance, a cheerful warbler glides over the banana plant silhouetted against the horizon, as if carrying the sun on its wings.

The insistent ringing of the phone has intruded into my fading dream. My baggy eyes sag in the morning light. Second Daughter lets me know. Azul is no more.

In the spring when I go back home to the mainland, I'll look out the front window, as has been my wont. Coffee in hand, I'll walk toward where Azul used to be. 

The space by the glass window will be inconsolably bare. He will not be there nibbling his seeds.

But I know to peer outside where the wildflowers are blooming once more. Because I know that's where he is. 

I'll whisper, Azul, I don't know how the day is going to be.

As the black-eyed Susan sways in the early breeze, I can imagine him nudging me toward the brightening sky as if to say, Don't worry. Can't you tell? It's going to be a nice day today.