A healing Nature

Füsun Atalay © 2008

I'm now a full- fledged empty nester since my son and daughter have flown the coop to seek their fortunes around the world and my husband has decided to follow his, with another woman. So, since last January, Beowulf, my cat has been my sole companion through the long, cold and seemingly eternal winter.

Despite his name, Beowulf is a very friendly and affectionate domestic tiger who sleeps at the foot of my bed and lies on guard at the door whenever I take my showers. Pets, nevertheless, are a different kind of 'children' to whom we divert all our affections in the absence of our own.


I ponder on Khalil Gibran's words:

“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.”

Naturally, there comes that time in life to let our children fulfill Life's longing for itself. If we have done a fairly good job in raising them, they'll come back to us and to the unconditional love we carry for them.

A life partner's departure, on the other hand, is not as readily acceptable- especially when there's no rhyme or reason any poet or philosopher can explain. So we call such events mid-life crisis, marital-breakdown or downright betrayal.

I was getting tired of living as a betrayed wife when Life presented me with its will to go on through nature. The jasmine-scented mock orange blossoms outside the front door, the heady perfume of lilacs in the backyard, the greening of new grass made me realize that life goes on and I have to keep pace.

Last Sunday I found a dazed, young bird at my doorstep. It couldn't fly in spite of desperate attempts. I knew that it would be fair game for the neighborhood cats and took him in. Since I don’t have a bird cage - I placed him in Beowulf's pet taxi― the carrying case we use when Beowulf goes to his veterinary visits. I gave him water, flax and sesame seeds, a few grapes and a furry toy.


Nursing a fragile, helpless creature back to health with loving words and soothing music, as well as nourishment and care evoke nostalgic feelings in me. I don't know much about birds, but searching on the Internet, I discovered that this was a baby starling with a black mark on his bill (as opposed to pink) indicating that he is a male. Beowulf and I decided to name our battered guest, Billy


Beowulf was joyous and curious like a toddler who just got a baby brother ; and wanted to play with him immediately. I had to be watchful that he didn't topple the pet taxi or reach in too far with his claws and harm Billy. Yet watching his feline curiosity and the wonder on his face, the futile attempts of his cat reasoning, his question-laden "meow"s brought me much laughter and amusement -something I haven't had for a while.
When I met my husband, he was like Billy: lost, battered and ruffled, albeit not by flying into a wall but by its equivalent in human terms. During our life together he did find love, happiness, trust; and regained his self-confidence and self-esteem through my unconditional love and nurturing. Once he could hold up his head and put a past he hid from me behind, he didn't seem to need me any more and took off leaving behind a few feathers ― souvenirs of his existence. This is not the way it was supposed to be, but life doesn’t always turn out the way we plan and hope it will.

Letting Bill, the love of my life, go has been very painful and difficult.

Letting Billy, the bird, go should be easier. I'll take care of him until he too heals, and then I'll set him free into his own world and mingle with his peers among the mulberry branches or feast on the ripening fruits in my backyard. I've always had a spot for birds, because for me birds symbolize not only a delicate vulnerability, but also a much coveted freedom and soaring of the spirit.


My Father used to call me 'Saint Füsun of Brossard' after Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron Saint of birds, for I always leave food out for them in winter and summer.

Birds can ascend in a heartbeat and command a 'bird's eye' view of life; they see what I cannot. They are beautiful, fragile, sing joyful songs and soothe my soul. But they are vulnerable in spite of their free, independent, restless spirits. They give without knowing : the mulberry tree whose fruits and tall beauty I enjoy from the window when I write at my desk is a gift from the birds- a seed dropped right there from a bill- and that grew into a tree bearing edible fruit ! So is the grapevine that has been growing along the fence and whose leaves I have harvested many times to make delicious wine leaves stuffed with rice, pine nuts, cinnamon and mint.

* * * * * *

Billy regained his health last Friday. I could almost taste his yearning to try his wings again and discover the blue skies. Beowulf, during this time had turned from a feline with hunter instincts into a protective older brother. Or maybe he made me believe that because I never left the two unsupervised. In any case, it was time to let go ― once more...

With Beowulf following my every step, I carried the pet taxi to the back yard and opened the metal grid door. Billy paused briefly. Then, like a plane soaring into the vast skies, he took off and alighted on the tip of a pine branch where two larger starlings joined him immediately. Briefly after, all three flew into a glorious sunset, while Beowulf turned into a typical feline once again and dashed after them. But I knew he’d never catch up to them, and Billy would be fine now.


Billy is back !

Billy (the bird) is back! A day after I released it, I saw Beowulf and Al (an all- white street cat I named Al-short for Algarth) playing in the backyard. Now, these two usually hiss at each other, but this time they were behaving like two hockey players on the same team chasing after a puck ! Well, the puck turned out to be Billy, trying to hop to safety for his delicate life. I was thunderstruck ! I dropped everything (including a slipper) and stormed out. Beowulf had purposely turned deaf to my admonishments and raced me to the raspberry bush where Billy made one final hop and vanished among the leaves.

Instinct and desperation propelled me into the bushes groping for the battered creature. When I found it, his heart was racing with fear and its wing feathers were out of kilter. I felt terribly guilty for having released it prematurely, believing it would be alright. Perhaps I had acted out of my personal, wishful thinking rather than treading with reason. I could only pray that he would survive.

Billy has been recuperating ever since, and pecking at the mulberries I gather from the tree his ancestors bestowed in my yard. It has been a challenge to keep Beowulf away from his shelter; but these are the kind of challenges which bring me happiness.

There's rain in the night air and the International Fireworks have started. I hear their boom at a distance from my open window through which waft in floral fragrances from my Chinese neighbor's yard. Beowulf is back from his night's outing, getting ready for his deep slumber after chasing birds and butterflies all day. Billy is safe and slowly recovering. I feel I'm ready to retire myself with a book and some music until my eyelids feel heavy with sleep.

When I lay down my book and turn off the lights, I'll thank for all the things I have and say a prayer for the battered Billies of the world.

Not long ago, I was one of them.


Copyrighted material ! All rights belong to Füsun Atalay ~ Copyright © 2008