I heard the cry as I opened my eyes.
“Hey. Hey.” The call was sharp and incessant.
It was Saturday, the day I didn’t set my alarm intending to wake when I woke.
“Hey, what did the blue jay say?” Brandon sat in bed flipping the screen on his iPad.
“He says ‘there is no corn in the feeder’.”
“We put food in it yesterday. How can it be empty?”
“Between the squirrels and the jays?” I stretched, rubbed my eyes and squinted at the clock.
“You got an extra hour,” Brandon said swiping his finger across the tablet.
“Is the coffee ready?”
“I heard the buzzer a few minutes ago.”
I grabbed my robe, stuffed my feet into worn slippers and headed downstairs. First order of business was coffee. The aroma greeted me as I entered the kitchen. I took my favorite cup from its peg and filled it to the brim with hot, steamy java. The cup wrapped in both hands I leaned over and took a deep breath, allowing the steam to trickle into my fuzzy brain.
“Hey. Hey.” The call came from beyond the sliding glass door.
“Yes, yes. You want breakfast too.” I took a quick sip before reaching into the full container of corn cobs. We had gathered them from the field after the harvesters finished. My coffee cup in one hand and two big cobs precariously balanced in my arms, I opened the sliding door and stepped onto the deck. A jay sat at the feeder and tipped his head at me.
“Hey. Hey,” he called before he flew away. Another jay perched in the Norwegian Pine twenty feet away.
I dumped the cobs on the platform feeder at the deck’s edge and took a seat at the table. A jay swooped in, landing first on the deck rail then hopping to the feeder. The sun was warm, but the air promised snow. I knew it was one of the last mornings I would share breakfast with the jays.
A squirrel chattered in the distance, wanting his share of corn. The jays and the squirrels agreed. It would be a cold winter.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer