A Few Moments More

You’ll give it one more minute, and then you’re headed back inside.

It’s pretty chilly out, after all. Not that that’s a real issue - you’ve stood out here for longer, and in colder weather. The snow is nearly gone already; tiny, dirt-stained islands of the stuff form a shrinking archipelago dotting the sea of green that is your backyard. Striations of sunlight dance through the trees at the edge of the woods and paint the scene in a camouflage of brown, green, and gold.

It is a beautiful morning.

But impatience is chasing you hard today, and you find yourself without the stamina to outpace him for much longer.

Your outstretched hands waver slightly, cupping a little mound of dark birdseed. This has become something of a ritual over the past two weeks or so. Currently between jobs and crashing at the family home, you’ve found yourself with an abundance of long, free mornings. Clearly, this is a rare window of opportunity in pre-retirement, Western Hemisphere adulthood. Foregoing the tried-and-true self-improvement habits of running, reading, Greek-yogurt-eating, and so on, you have elected instead to spend your open mornings in this enigmatic pursuit: armed with mounds of birdseed intended for the feeder and a blazing passion to have a bird land in your hand, you’ve marched out morning after morning in the hope of making some feathery friends.

On this particular morning, the woods at the edge of your backyard are positively brimming with activity; the flutters, whistles, warbles, and tweets sound like an orchestra warming up before a performance. Your attention is focused, however, on a pair of striking red Northern Cardinals. The duo are bouncing about a bundle of slim, eye-level branches a mere stone’s throw from where you lean against the back porch banister. Judging from the brightness of their plumage, you ascertain that they are likely both males. They pay you no mind as they continue their fluttering game.

You smile wryly to yourself, and heave a small sigh. Go figure.

A sudden pleasant breeze sighs along with you.

The gust carries with it the smell of wet earth, the sound of whispering greenery, and a hint of early springtime warmth. Then the wind fades, and the scene stills. Even the birdsong seems to quiet down, as a distant dove provides a concert pitch. You close your eyes, savoring the quiet scene.

But it has been almost two weeks of this daily ritual, and the stillness itself isn’t quite satisfying enough today. You are tired of waiting, and you want a bird to land in your hand right now.

You open your eyes.

Powerful as it may feel to you, your yearning has no effect on the cardinals. They continue to ignore you, and after a few seconds they flutter one after another towards a far-off shrubbery.

It’s probably been a minute by now anyway, you think to yourself.

Heaving another quiet sigh, you lower your hands to release the seeds. Just as your posture shifts, a tiny crimson form to your right blasts off into the air with a frightful twittering. Reeling slightly from the sudden shock, it takes you a few moments to realize what happened. A third cardinal had apparently landed on your very own back porch banister - but you, so intent on the birds gallivanting away in the woods, did not even notice as it took up a post less than two meters away. Your sudden motion must have sent it into an airborne retreat, potentially seconds before it might have investigated the inviting snacks clutched in your hands. Impatience, in his greed, has stolen a lovely moment from you.

You allow the rest of the seeds to rain down to the damp earth. For a moment, your eyes follow the now distant bird. Then with your biggest sigh yet, you shuffle dejectedly towards the back door.

Though you have no way of telling, it has in fact not been a full minute since your countdown commenced; rather, only 47-and-a-half seconds have passed. Time behaves strangely in moments of true stillness, after all. As the true end of the minute approaches, you slowly ease the back door shut behind you. Disappointed as you are to have fumbled a golden opportunity, you find a small, fierce, and newfound hope kindled by such a close encounter.

And as the sixtieth second passes, you wipe your boots on the rag at the door, push damp hair from your eyes, and think to yourself, next time.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

First off, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this piece. It was quite enjoyable for me to write, and heavily inspired by personal experience. Someday, I'll befriend those birds...

This piece is also something of a sequel to this earlier work shown below, done for the 250 word Snow Micro Challenge. It's the first Top Story I ever got, and very special to me! I've been pondering writing a follow-up to it for a while now, and jumped on the extra motivation of this challenge to help me get it done.

Thanks again for reading, friends. Keep your eyes out for a third part to the series...but try not to be too impatient ;)

Cheers!