The picture is not a very good one, I know, but trust me when I tell you that the little black blob hanging off the birch towards the center of the photo is a woodpecker. As I was walking this morning I heard the telltale thwack-crack that is a woodpecker working his way through the trunk of a tree. It was much slower than I would usually hear, so at first I didn't realize what it was. On my way back around though, about a half hour later, in a contemplative sort of mood, I paused and listened once more. When I turned and looked up into the trees I saw this fellow, and though the picture doesn't show it, he was big! Of course, most of the birds we see around our house are the smaller types, mostly chickadees, so anything much larger than a tennis ball seems huge to me.
I watched him for a bit, intrigued by the difference in his method this season compared to warmer times. Rather than his jackhammer beak riveting its way into the tree, his progress was slow and steady, the tree frozen, making it hard to get to its life-giving innards. I don't know why, but watching him made me smile. Perhaps that it was life still goes on, though much slower, during this time of year, even if it sometimes feels like everything had paused. Even with the frightening cold we've had these last few weeks, the outside animals still live and work.
I think, also, I saw something I needed to see. He worked with such determination, though the conditions were far from perfect and the results would likely not be what he truly wanted. I, too, often find myself in imperfect conditions that produce results that were not what I had originally desired. I will thrust myself forward, over and over, not in that quick, efficient pace, but slowly and deliberately, hoping each time I move myself against the thing I am working to break open, I will reach the prize within.
The woodpecker was working because if he does not, he will starve. My work, the work of fulling my life with good and nurturing things, is not one that, in the biological sense, will kill me if left neglected. But should I stop and not take what little bits I can get as I break away the bark of life's challenges, certainly my soul will shrivel to nothing.
Though I don't always feel the strength or the motivation to dig into the things that give me the most nourishment, to get at the most filling and good stuff, I think I must remember that I must.
Note: Since I wrote this a woodpecker has since decided to make itself at home underneath one of the eves of our house. Perhaps he sensed our kinship?
