Little treasures can often be as significant as big ones, or even more so. A deceased mother’s wedding ring kept in the center of a jewelry box, and occasionally tried on. A prized tuft of your child’s baby hair kept in a memory book, and occasionally used to stroke your cheek. Your favorite book signed by the author in ink, thanking you for understanding his/her words. These treasures may not be of huge monetary value, but they are priceless in your heart.
What little treasures do you visit from time to time? Ones that you sit staring at it for several moments at a time, lightly touching, with either tears rolling down your eyes or a smile glistening on your face. What did and do these treasures mean to you? They are surely memories that will last a lifetime. Perhaps they are treasures that help you continue in life, perhaps as bits of security. They help the memory live forever, so memories never die.
I have a few little treasures I keep, but one of my dearest belonged to a loving friend of 15 years, my little buddy, named Lima. I think about him every day since his passing in February. His cage sits across my bedroom covered by a colorful blanket from his native Ecuador. Sometimes I hear a chirp or even my name being called from beneath the cover, but I forbid myself from looking under. I do not want to see him not there.
I yearn to hug, and kiss my Lima, but I do know his whole physical living being is gone from this world. But I do have a pile of evidence of his beauty and being resting in a heart-shaped box. A lovely small box painted with colorful birds. In this box there are 15 years of lost wing and tail feathers (quills) neatly stacked. They fill the box completely. Each one is cobalt blue, sometimes with hints of lime green. His wing and tail feathers were his glory. He would stretch them majestically saying “Look how beautiful I am.” Then occasionally he’d pull one out to make room for a fresher newer one.
It would be a huge task to count these cobalt blue quills, so I don’t. I instead press them down lightly into the box with my fingers. I sniff them, too, trying to remember what my bird smelled like. That memory firmly lives on in me. They are like a pillow in that they bounce back under the pressure. I can picture them all lined up on his wings allowing him to fly about the room. Chasing me or landing on my shoulder to be with.
If only I was a small little bird, I would weave a nest out of my dear Lima’s quills. What a strong and glorious nest it would be. Or maybe put them in a silk pouch and rest my head on them comfortably. But I am just too big, so these thoughts must remain in my imagination and dreams. In the meantime, they’ll be stored in the little box for safe keeping. I hope they remain glorious forever.