The Bird

Let’s see – what’s the weather going to do tomorrow? I wonder whatever happened to Elmer what’s-his-name . . . oh well . . . make some soup I guess, then . . .

Some time ago I saw a bird. It was a remarkable sort of bird – beautiful metallic blue-black coat with a peculiar head dress of downy-soft-ruffle-in-the-wind feathers. Its eyes were lighter than most birds I’ve noticed before so, in my mind at least, it had a different personality than other birds, I suppose. Its legs were covered in the same fabric as its head dress and they originated from a bold and volumous body just the right shape and size for resonating the songs it sang (more about that later). At the termination of each leg was a dark blue foot adorned with lustrous oil-slick-rainbow nails – so it was difficult to tell what color they really were or even that they were colored at all. As striking as the appearance of this bird was, it was the song it sang that attracted me to this bird-creature.

I initiated vision one morning a few summers ago and on the sill of my open bedroom window sat the bird. You know, that time of day just between light and darkness when you are not sure if what you are seeing is part of a dream just dreamt or part of an experience you are about to have – that’s when I saw the bird. It didn’t see me or at least it didn’t let on that it saw me or at least it didn’t consider me to be worthy of acknowledgement energy so I had the opportunity to witness its morning ritual without detriment to its performance, Heisenberg-wise that is. It perched perfectly petrified as the sky grew lighter and lighter and lighter until just at that moment, you know, when the sun orgasmically explodes above the horizon. The first ejaculation of light splashed off its crown like a stage light and it tilted its head back and chortled the most amazing morning welcome I have ever encountered. I was not expecting the intensity. I was not expecting the clarity. I was not expecting the brilliance of what emanated from the very soul of that bird. I sat up as if I had been caught sleeping in my own math class and without hesitation the bird turned, bowed and exited (stage left). Well . . . er, uh, so much for that little performance, I guess! Damn!

So, when I saw the same bird again a few months ago, I was immediately drawn to it for the experience it had afforded me on that June morning years earlier. And I knew it was the same bird, not just a member of the same species, not just a replica or even a close family member – it was the same flipping bird – it was, in fact, the bird. It again, found its way to my open window sill and waited for the first sparkle of dawn before it opened its bulging cheeks to sing. I was ready this time. I held tightly to my covers. I stopped breathing, or at least, controlled my breathing (very Kung Fu – like I was). I waited. Photo-electromagnetic pressure surged forward from the sun just over eight light-minutes away and blasted the bedroom with a shower of color. At the exact same instant, bird-creature began her song (I think she was a female – for reasons I will get into later). I almost whimpered. I held back a squeal. My mouth fell open. I snapped it shut. My sinuses cleared as if I had walked into pig barn in the middle of January. Holy shit, this bird can sing (Beatles – Rubber Soul – 1965). That was just one of the gazillion thoughts that popped into my brain while watching the show. Why me? Why did this bird come to my place or maybe, why did I end up at this bird’s place? I don’t know. Anyway, I am seeing this. I wanted to look around at the rest of the audience and ask if anyone else was noticing what was going on. There was nobody else there or, they were watching something else or they missed it or something. Damn!

I saw the bird occasionally for several weeks after that. I couldn’t help but think how amazing this bird actually was. Sometimes I would chastise myself for being so infatuated with a bird. “Teacher passes away quietly during the night – probable cause of death – smitten by bird!” Aaaagghhh! Get a life man. I mean, do I really think that this feathered little songstress is putting on a show for me every other day? Well, I didn’t care – I liked it and I was about to change my schedule to accommodate female bird-creature - to coax her into noticing me. I put out food for her and she would eat some but generally she would scratch most of it onto the floor of my room and then look at me with her cute little head cocked to one side at give me the old “blah, blah, blah, blah, blah” or, in her case, the old “tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet”. Unrequited love eh! Damn!

I left little bits of string and Kleenex around so that she would have all the raw materials necessary to build a nest. I don’t know if she ever took the stuff or if she even noticed that I had left them for her but they were always gone so I imagined that she found them and that somewhere out there in the trees she had built a delightful little home for her next generation of bird-creatures. I kept this wonderful dream in my story-mind until one day my little pup Charlie took a dump in the middle of the living room carpet. To my dismay his steaming hot dog coil was embroidered, embossed and embedded with string and Kleenex. Plan B! Damn, damn!

I wondered what it would be like to be a bird and fly around with her – you know, do bird things – stand around and whistle at the cats, scratch for worms, go to the bird bath together, go to the fountain for drinks (and order two straws). I realized this probably wasn’t possible but that didn’t stop me from practicing my chirping and peeping. I switched to a diet of various seeds and berries. I preened while bathing and I went to bed as soon as the sun went down and rose at dawn and welcomed the day with a song of my own. Life was good. Then one day I saw her nest (no string, no Kleenex – darn dog!) – just above arm’s reach on the outermost spit of elm branch on the big fellow in the back yard. I peered, stretched, jumped and contorted in all possible human body shapes to evaluate the contents – nothing. She caught me spying one day and scolded me or, at least, gave me that sarcastic, flippant bird chirp – like “Oh, you pathetic human!” But I was undaunted. My careful vigilance proved fruitful in time and I spotted four little beaks with four even littler straggly-haired heads attached. God, I was a father – and at my age! Well, not really. I’m not like that. But I did identify – I mean after all, I had put out some seeds and string and Kleenex – darn dog!

But bird-creature went away that fall and didn’t come back for a long time and when she did return it was with another bird-creature – a male bird creature. She seemed to really go for this guy. I don’t think his car was as good as mine but, he could fly after all and I couldn’t really compete against that so I conceded defeat and bird-creature left. This bird has flown (Beatles – Rubber Soul – 1965). She never did come back. Broke my heart too. But I did learn to keep my window closed at night. It’s way easier that way and the room stays warmer and I sleep better and a whole lot of other things that must be good for me but I can’t remember what they are right now. Well, time to make some cereal and then go for the mail and wander down for coffee. Darn dog! Damn!