Here comes robin. He calls ahead before flying in, and the sound is familiar. It's deliberate, yet seems unplanned.. As for him, it's a chirp.

Of what? Certainly not my plan, gone in an instant. It leaves the mind vacant, in a moment worthy of attention. I have wondered if, as it seems, we share this empty mind.

Robin looks at me, unblinking. All around are sounds from other birds. A bee is buzzing. Traffic in the street. Off in the distance a siren. Not the skittery electronic kind but a full throated wail, roaring out of a rotary vane. It dwindles down to a groan, trailing out. Next the relative calm is punctuated by the click of a small bug.

I stare back. The cacophony had a beat. It recalls a tap dance, in a way, the clatter of tappets heard from an internal combustion engine. These are echoes of mental operations where space and time are exchanging places. Logical thought put to music. A reduction of experience to the level of perception.

I do not think robin shares these echoes. Neither does he comprehend pre-quantum computers, how they run on 0 and 1, in rigorous clear-cut distinction. Nor post-quantum ones where the practice of classical logic ends in rigor mortis, having left out what might stymie minds trained in the standard model.

Or any other model. The complexity of experience, while actually shared with interconnected minds, is in total overwhelming. All that is, or was, or will be is impossible to handle all at once. So far as robin is concerned, a bird brain is just the right size for recognition of our friendship. So far as I'm concerned, to reduce my burden to the size of robin's world is OK. And what we share, unblinking, needs no analysis.

Everyone talks about the weather, but no one . . .

Remember that one? But now it's a political no-no. Worse. Because as it gets worse, the choice boils down to like it or lump it, love it or – but can't leave it. Now this is serious.

Well then, why not forget it? Suspend disbelief and pretend it isn't really happening.

But we have a reality plain as day. The hue and cry is of various proportions, but is that going to make the climate change back?

Excessive heat has affected the oceans which, according to physics, will take centuries to cool. And given the possibility of runaway positive feedback, the prospect for the future is sunnier than we'd like,

When put this way it might seem a Gilbert and Sullivan parody. Something to entertain. Or shall we take it seriously? I think this latter the least likely outcome. But this is no morality play. It is not even a tragedy, which requires hubris. And who is proud of what we have wrought?

This just in, out of nowhere --

How, out of so many things, an infinity of things, does one get selected? It's like a gift. Got to write it down. That's the deal --

Somehow, it prefigured taking kitchen scraps to the compost. There are also pieces of walnuts, and seeds for the bird feeder, which I put in a small cup that fits into the compost bowl. All of this is bundled out to the backyard. The walnuts will get laid out on the fence rail.

Almost there, I am suddenly intercepted by my friendly hummingbird, who flies right up to my free hand. He looks me in the eye, hovering near my finger. It's quick and gentle, an unexpected little breeze that doesn't get my attention right away, being so unusual. In about half a minute, it becomes a mutual greeting. Casual, ordinary, run of the mill, a fine meeting.

And oh, the gift: “Yo-jimbo!”



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