As a little country girl, when I wasn't helping Grandma in the gardens, I could usually be found out exploring the vast acreage and wilderness that was my grandparents' farm. I often found stray animal and reptilian babies who had lost their way or fallen from their nest, and they all came home with me: dogs, cats, possums, turtles, snakes, frogs, squirrels, and birds... lots of birds.
Once I even found a bird egg toppled from it's nest and despite my mother insisting that it wouldn't hatch, I brought it in, made a bed for it in a paper cup, and kept it warm... Not only did it hatch, but the tiny naked creature grew and thrived and eventually, fully feathered, would fly around the house following me on command until the day we finally set him (or her) free.
I remember going to visit my Aunt Buella and Uncle Zinnie (yep, those were their real names) who raised Peacocks. There was nothing more beautiful to me than to see those magical birds spread their magnificent plumes. --Besides the big brass spittoon that sat between their chairs, the only memories I have of my great aunt and uncle are their wonderful birds.
So yes, I do like birds. --If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I think it wouldn't be such a bad thing to come back as a bird... to soar above the world and taste the sky...
A recent addition to my growing (ebay) art collection are these three mixed-media paintings from the uber-talented Jenny Berry which now adorn my wall. I especially like the bird on the telephone pole; that particular painting is like a memory captured. Her stuff is amazing to me and makes me smile inside... and isn't that what art is all about?
"Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them?"