I see her regularly. This woman who feeds the birds.

There’s this old church next to Orchestra Hall. It’s padlocked and closed but maintains a certain majesty with its large decorative windows. As I walk down the alley to the Stage Door entrance, I hear the little birds. I hear them even during the winter. I look up to see them fly by me. Nature busy at work, their little chirps a music as lovely as that created by our musicians.

I noticed her there, tossing birdseed and breadcrumbs to the birds. I didn’t look too closely at first, in my haste to get to work. I was running through my to do list in my mind. But then, I began to see her more and more. I found myself looking for her.

She wears a tan coat and pants. Boots. A hat. No gloves. I’ve seen her carry nothing but a bag of bread and the birdseed.

At first she didn’t make eye contact. Just looked at her birds and stood quietly to tend them. But more recently I smiled at her, said good morning. She smiled back with a childlike delight sparkling in her eyes. Only recently did she speak to me. I wonder if anyone else speaks to her.

We spoke of the birds. How she has to be on time to feed them. How she can’t be late. I watched her toss the seed and the birds came to her. It felt so similar to that scene in Mary Poppins. You remember, the scene on the steps of St. Paul’s where the bird lady calls out to invite those busy people passing by to stop, buy a bag of seed for a tuppence and feed the birds.

Last Thursday it was so cold and there was snow. I worked from home — my warm home. But she was on my mind. I wondered if she had anywhere warm to stay. If she was out there in the cold and snow, feeding those birds. And what I could do for her.

I don’t know if she’s homeless. I don’t know where she goes after feeding the birds.  One day, driving in, I noticed her walking down the sidewalk on Woodward Avenue near a coffee place my son and I enjoy. I so just wanted to buy her a cup of coffee and sit with her … talk with her. Hear her story. Share my lunch with her. Her smile is so bright. And her care of those birds warms my heart.

But sharing a smile and a few words with her just doesn’t seem enough … though I wonder if anyone else talks to her. I wonder if anyone else really sees her.

Now each morning I look for her. But, I haven’t seen her in since that day nearly a week ago. I packed up a spare set of mittens, a scarf and a hat that I knit — I want to give her something I actually made — as well as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I carry those with me. I also bring a bag of bread for her to share with the birds. Since that seems so important to her, I wanted to give her something to share with them too.

I wonder about her life. I wonder what brought her to that alley. What sparks her heart to feed those birds. What her story might be.

I arrived earlier this morning — hoping to catch her. But as I walked from the parking structure, I noticed that the bread and bird seed had already been scattered. She was gone. I’d  missed her. But the birds hadn’t. They hopped about happily, enjoying their special treat. She’d been there for them. I just wonder … who’s there for her?

With a sigh, I headed down the alley. It was then I saw an older man, bending down to pick what looked like an old orange from the ground. He had a backpack on his back. Gloves and a hat. And he wore a tattered black coat. So, I stopped to say hello. He glanced up, surprised. I handed him the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had made for the bird lady. Then, he told me that was just what he needed — and he smiled. I wished him a good day and continued my walk down the alley.

What can we do about the bird ladies? Will a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a few words be enough to support a weary, wandering soul? I don’t know.

But I’m going to pack a sandwich every day now, offer what I can and try.

  — Jenni