Cardinals Birds Quotes

What made me sign with the Cardinals? Because they used salesmanship, the personal touch. Where others wrote, they talked. Where others waited, they acted. That early bird that got the worm must have been a Redbird.

But once, a cardinal alighted on the kitchen windowsill and he found himself squinting long after it had flown away again, trying hard to hold on to its beauty.

she hopped and darted to and fro like a bird in a berry bush, trilling and twittering a series of notes as liquidly bright as a cardinal’s song,

She especially liked my bedside lamp, which had a five-sided porcelain shade. Unlit, the shade seemed like bumpy ivory. Lit, each panel came to life with the image of a bird: a blue jay, a cardinal, wrens, an oriole, and a dove. Kathleen turned it off and on again, several times. "How does it do that?" "The panels are called lithophanes." I knew because I'd asked my father about the lamp, years ago. "The porcelain is carved and painted. You can see it if you look inside the shade." "No," she said. "It's magic. I don't want to know how it's done.

But the more time passed, the less I hurt. The less I hurt, the more I was able to see how beautiful, how full, my life was. I felt myself smiling as I walked in my neighborhood. My eyes followed the calls of birds to find them in the trees—grackles, woodpeckers, crows, robins, blue jays, cardinals. I’d built a life in which my days were like this: taking long walks, writing, mothering, cackling over coffee or cocktails with friends, sleeping alone some nights, being held close by someone I loved other nights. I was unfolding, learning to take up space. Life began to feel open enough, elastic enough, to contain whatever I might choose for it.

funeral wreath for the queen.” He sat in the clear space between the bank and the first line of trees and bent a pine bough into a circle, tying it with a piece of wet string from the castle. And because it looked cold and green, he picked spring beauties from the forest floor and wove them among the needles. He put it down in front of him. A cardinal flew down to the bank, cocked its brilliant head, and seemed to stare at the wreath. P. T. let out a growl which sounded more like a purr. Jess put his hand on the dog to quiet him. The bird hopped about a moment more, then flew leisurely away. “It’s a sign from the Spirits,” Jess said quietly. “We made a worthy offering.” He walked slowly, as part of a great procession, though only the puppy could be seen, slowly forward carrying the queen’s wreath to the sacred grove.

The cardinal directions are north, west, south, and east. The cardinal temperatures are 35º Fahrenheit, 67º Fahrenheit, 3º Celsius, and 10º Kelvin. The cardinal locations are a cave, a long-abandoned cabin, the bottom of an oceanic trench, and City Hall. The cardinal emotions are wild abandon, guarded affection, directionless jealousy, and irritation. The cardinal birds are hawk, sparrow, finch, and owl. The cardinal names are Jeremy, Kim, Trigger, and Jamie. And, finally, the cardinal sounds are a door slamming, slight movement in still water, popcorn popping, and a standard guitar G string being snipped with wire cutters. This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

The Meaning of Birds Of the genesis of birds we know nothing, save the legend they are descended from reptiles: flying, snap-jawed lizards that have somehow taken to air. Better the story that they were crab-apple blossoms or such, blown along by the wind; time after time finding themselves tossed from perhaps a seaside tree, floated or lifted over the thin blue lazarine waves until something in the snatch of color began to flutter and rise. But what does it matter anyway how they got up high in the trees or over the rusty shoulders of some mountain? There they are, little figments, animated---soaring. And if occasionally a tern washes up greased and stiff, and sometimes a cardinal or a mockingbird slams against the windshield and your soul goes oh God and shivers at the quick and unexpected end to beauty, it is not news that we live in a world where beauty is unexplainable and suddenly ruined and has its own routines. We are often far from home in a dark town, and our griefs are difficult to translate into a language understood by others. We sense the downswing of time and learn, having come of age, that the reluctant concessions made in youth are not sufficient to heat the cold drawn breath of age. Perhaps temperance was not enough, foresight or even wisdom fallacious, not only in conception but in the thin acts themselves. So our lives are difficult, and perhaps unpardonable, and the fey gauds of youth have, as the old men told us they would, faded. But still, it is morning again, this day. In the flowering trees the birds take up their indifferent, elegant cries. Look around. Perhaps it isn't too late to make a fool of yourself again. Perhaps it isn't too late to flap your arms and cry out, to give one more cracked rendition of your singular, aspirant song.

What is oinkiness?" asked #Cardinal Bird Oh, don't you know? You haven't heard? said The Owl who was kind and wise, When you meet The Moon Pig you'll be surprised ... Luna has oinkiness and has it lots! You've either got it or you have not!

What is oinkiness?" asked Cardinal Bird Oh, don't you know? You haven't heard? said The Owl who was kind and wise, When you meet The Moon Pig you'll be surprised ... Luna has oinkiness and has it lots! You've either got it or you have not!

Liberty looked at Willie, who was turning and folding his hands. Her own hands were trembling, and her mind darted, this way and that. Once, on a sunny day, much like this day, she had been driving down the road in their truck and she had seen a male cardinal that had just been struck by a car. It lay rumpled, on the road's shoulder, and the female rose and dipped in confusion and fright about it, urging it to continue, to go on with her. Liberty's mind moved like that, like that wretched, bewildered bird.

To regain my equilibrium, I head for the corridor of bird skins. These are not taxidermied birds, not cute in any way. Still, it comforts me to open the wide, flat drawers and see them there, even if they are tied at the feet and devoid of the life conveyed in the average field guide. Ornithologists, it turns out, are both preservationists and murderers, learning how to scoop out a bird's innards and keep the feathers on. But as a bird skin, if properly prepared, can serve as a reference into the next century and beyond. Like this drawer full of cardinals: juveniles, males, females, specimens with winter plumage, summer plumage, and every variety within the varieties.

Her mother told her about cardinals when she was a child. This bird was symbolic of beauty in the midst of darkness, hope in the midst of sorrow—and her family had certainly seen a fair share of sorrow. Could

All sorts of cool things transpired while I worked on this book. For example: I learned a ton. Also, one day while my brain was overheating, a cardinal, a blue jay, and an oriole appeared near my windowsill—that’s all the eponymous birds of Major League Baseball teams. That never happens.

An almost invisible bird, a small piece of hopping dirt, purposed along the edge of the flower bed, eyeing for beauty or looking for worms. Olivia watched it as she walked with her husband toward the yew and puzzling statue. We count those birds as nothing, she thought, the small dun-colored ones, and prefer to keep our wonder for the spectral glory of cardinals, or the ungainly grace of cranes. Goldfinches and even jays delight us, but are they so different from these common little brown birds which we think of as vermin? Astonishing accidents of pigment, size, plumage: Why do they elicit or wonder?

fell sick, too—and those that survived stopped having babies. All this went down a few years before my mom and dad were born, in the middle of ordinary America. Terrible but true. Growing up by the ocean, I’ve always taken birds for granted. How bad would it suck to grow up in a place where life was gone from the skies and the trees? I closed the book and took note of what was visible in the woods—warblers, sparrows, mockingbirds, a lone crow, redwing blackbirds, a pair of cardinals. From the water’s edge I could hear kingfishers and ospreys and a croaky blue heron. Somewhere else a northern flicker was hammering on a cypress trunk, which made me wonder how one wood-pecking species managed to survive mankind’s dumbass mistakes while others—like the poor ivorybill—didn’t make it. I closed the book, thinking about my own survival issues. Skink would have been back by now, if he were coming. Either the gator had nailed him

Well, when you miss me, you’ll go somewhere big and open, a place like our lake or any place where you can see the whole sky. Once you’re there, take a big, deep breath, and start to notice all the things we notice when we’re together.” “Like birds?” “Yes, notice the cardinals, the scissor-tailed flycatchers…” “And the hummingbirds, robins, and red-bellied woodpeckers?” “Yes, and the clouds, moon, and stars. And the sounds of things, like the breeze in the tall grass, the wind in the trees, the whir of cars passing on the interstate, people talking, yelling, laughing. Smell the campfire smoke, summer rain, wet leaves. But most of all, I want you to notice what’s inside you. Ask yourself, What do I need?” “Okay.” “Try it now. Close your eyes. Ask yourself—” “—what do I need?” Wren squeezed her eyes closed. “Prolly ice cream.” “You’re darn right. Always.” “Always.

The King's Perspective There's a story of a king And this story is very true Some say it's just a rumor Some say it's just a ruse They called the man King Flip But that wasn't really his name His name was Filipileetos But that's too hard to say King FLip had a penchant For really expensive things He liked anything shiny And anything with bling He had the nicest castle Out of all the lands But that didn't stop him From wanting one even more grand So he bought a town called perspective And made the people build him a castle At the top of their highest mountain He didn't care if it was a hassle When the work was finally done He decided to go inspect it But when he arrived in the town of Perspective It was exactly as he'd left it He couldn't find a castle It wasn't on the mountain It wasn't on the breach It wasn't on the mainland He immediately grew angry And sought his just revenge On all those who had fooled him On the town, his army did descend When the people were all dead A red cardinal then appeared "King Flip, what have you done? You killed good people, I do fear." King Flip tried to explain That the town deserved to die For his castle was never build Or he would see it with his own eyes The bird said, "But King, you merely assumed. You didn't even try Look from a different perspective, Don't just look from your own two eyes." The bird then led him over to where The castle should surely be He then moved aside a boulder And King Flip feel to his knees For inside the mountain was the castle The most magnificent one ever build King Flip couldn't believe his eyes He quickly became wracked with guilt He had killed so many people. People he should have protected Simply because he couldn't see the castle from their perspective "Hide their bodies!" King Flip yelled "Hide every last one! Put them inside the mountain And then close those doors for good!" The kings army hid the bodies And King Flip fled the land HE went back to his old castle And never spoke of Perspective again Some say this story isn't true Some say it never existed But look at any map and you'll see There is no longer a town called Perspective.

flitted in a tangle of bright yellow forsythia. They whistled back and forth. Kasey thought of Riley. If Riley had been here, she’d remind her that the birds were a sign. A lucky sign. “Cardinals, good luck,” she said quietly, and she believed it, because this was the first day she’d felt like herself in months.

All this impressive physiology produces more than mere flight. The hawk dances on air. In just ten seconds, she stopped a rapid dive, rose vertically while turning, swept in a new direction, flapped upward, and curved into a rising arc, ending with a stall that parked her feet directly over a maple branch. The precision and beauty of bird flight is so familiar that our wonder is jaded. We should be frozen in amazement at the cardinal landing on the feeder or the sparrow banking around cars in a parking lot. Instead, we walk by as if an animal pirouetting on air were unremarkable, even mundane. The hawk's dramatic rise over the mandala's center jolts me out of dullness, pulling away the blinding layers of familiarity.

Vic gazed up at Kellan. His mate’s breathing was slow, but steady, and somewhere deep inside Vic believed that Kellan was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing. The gods would watch over his beautiful swan and keep their egg safe. Soon, Vic’s eyes grew heavy, but he fought against the sleep trying to take him. No, not yet. Just a little longer. He didn’t want Kellan to go through the egg-laying all by himself, not when Vic could be there and offer encouragement, to share in the moment and reassure him if he became scared. The wool blanket was doing its job and Vic had warmed up nicely. His eyelids fluttered, so he tried to keep his focus on Kellan, tried to keep from drifting off. Kellan. My precious mate, my love… The song of a cardinal invaded Vic’s dream and he tried to ignore it in favor of the imaginary outing he was enjoying with Kellan on the lake during some future summer. We can bring the baby. I bet it will be a water baby, same as its daddy. The slow trill of the winter bird cut through Vic’s peaceful world and his eyes flew open, his brain registering it was morning right as his eyes adjusted to the light. He yelped, his arms flailing for a second before he tumbled off the bed and landed with a thump onto the braided rug. Vic lay there for a moment, his heart pounding, trying to work out whether he was still in a dream or truly awake. He sucked in a deep breath, then pushed up from the floor. He peered over the edge of the bed, his eyes widening at the scene before him. A majestic swan, pure white and breathtakingly beautiful, was perched on the blanket nest, its beak tucked under one wing. Vic smiled, relief flooding him as he realized what had happened. Kellan. His mate had shifted. Whatever had been wrong was right again

There’s water in their lungs. Mr. Bell holds her now and afterward. There’s water in their ears and a voice warm as a mother’s should be. They fall toward the voice, through the deepest lake in the Adirondacks. “When you were a baby,” the voice says, “you used to point at birds.” The gesture of their hands entwined, reaching up through their descent, clawing for the disappearing surface, could be misconstrued as fingers pointing out a goldfinch on a branch, a red cardinal nosing the grass for some seeds. Later that night the lake freezes, sealing the scar under a dusting of snow.

To Live and Die in Dixie, by Kathy Hogan Trocheck. K is the eleventh letter in the alphabet, H the eighth and T the twentieth. The book is set in Atlanta and the brown thrasher is the state bird of Georgia. “Killer Market, by Margaret Maron. Her initials are the thirteenth letter and the cardinal is the state bird of North Carolina. “Mama Stalks the Past, by Nora DeLoach. Her initials are the fourteenth and fourth letters and the Carolina wren is the South Carolina state bird. “Murder Shoots the Bull, by Anne George. Her initials are the first and seventh letters and the yellowhammer is the state bird of Alabama. “Angel at Troublesome Creek, by Mignon F. Ballard. Her initials are the thirteenth, sixth and second letters and the cardinal is the state bird of North Carolina.

About the River Clarion Along its shores were, may I say, very intense cardinal flowers. And trees, and birds that have wings to uphold them, for heaven’s sakes– the lucky ones: they have such deep natures, they are so happily obedient. While I sit here in a house filled with books, ideas, doubts, hesitations.

As we grow our faith, we wait in silence. As we listen for His voice, we have hope that He will speak. It may not be a loud boom or thunder, but a soft whisper. He may use a song, a butterfly, a sermon, a stranger, or even a red cardinal, but there is hope that God will come through for us.

It’s those very setbacks, detours, trials, and life transitions that become steppingstones on the path to your brilliant destination. All the while, your intuition orchestrates amazing miracles and signs around you. The key is to trust your gut and the signs crossing your path. Some of the divine signs include: • Red Cardinal Birds • Rainbows • Butterflies • Deer • Angelic Encounters • Vivid dreams of departed loved ones, friends, & pets • Triple Digits • White Feather • Plus, so much more