The Bird Story

I used to love those stories - the ones you'd expect to read in a wilderness guide or a fantasy novel. The stories about birds coming close to feed humans with their warble or humans caring for an injured animal on the side of a road. Stories about the interaction between human and wild creature always kept me intrigued. The other day I became a character in one of those stories, albeit probably less fascinating.

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We were drinking an early brew on the porch when we heard a swooping noise. I looked towards the May tree and saw two little birds that appeared to be dancing. One kept lifting his wing and scooping air with his beak while the other remained still as a stone. I thought they were acting peculiar but if you watch anything wild for long enough you'll realize that everything is strange.

The smaller bird of the two, the one that appeared calm and quiet, suddenly dropped from the sky and into the trunk of the tree. I rushed towards it as if my instinct was a policeman's radio. I felt something was wrong and for a moment I wanted my shoulder's to belong to a hero.

The bird kept trying to fly, only raising itself an inch above ground before falling again. It was hard to watch something so beautiful struggle to get home. I wanted to give the bird directions, maybe draw her out a map or flap my arms to remind her how wings are supposed to work. But it was clear she knew the mechanics of flying, she just wasn't able to.

I did not want to touch the bird because she was so fragile and I am inexperienced with broken wild things. Carter suggested we place birdseed on the fence, he thought it might encourage her to keep trying. After a few more attempts at fighting the devil that is gravity, she finally made it to the meal we placed on the wooden fence. All of this time she kept cocking her head towards Carter. He thought he was an accomplished bird whisperer, but my bet's on the bird thinking his beard would make a mighty nest.

I'll admit we're not walking bird encyclopedias, we're just two people that want to see nature work the way it was meant to. Rain is supposed to drop, birds are supposed to fly.  

 We looked at each other, wondering how to plant a spark in the wind that would carry this bird home. The closer I got to her, the more I wanted to whisper stay? but I knew that was a cruel and selfish question. Birds aren't meant for human houses, they're bound for sticks and worms.

For reasons unknown, I felt a deep empathy and understanding of the flightless bird. I know what some of you are thinking - it is just a bird, a tenor for a choir, just one of many wild things that has lost it's way. But to me, it was more than just a broken-winged bird. It was every dream I've ever had in the shape of a house sparrow. I thought to myself, "If a bird without working wings can take flight, my dreams can take flight too."

The bird lifted its head one more time and rose into the air. This time there was no falling, only miles and miles of aromas, sound and sky.

Wearing:

  White Top - Value Village | Trousers - Mexx | Brown Heels - Value Village

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If the sight of the blue skies
fills you with joy,
if a blade of grass springing up in the fields
has power to move you,
if the simple things of nature have a message
that you understand,
rejoice, for your soul is alive — Eleonora Duse