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"This is my third spring. It was a good trip,
thankfully. I
enjoyed watching the season progress backwards as I flew up.
When I started, the Cherry blossoms and Azaleas were blooming.
The air was sweet with the scent of flowers. Honey bees were
buzzing in and out working on their spring crop of nectar. A
little further along, the woods were full of Dogwood in bloom.
Then just Daffodils, Daffodils, Daffodils. Here there are
patches of snow, especially on the shady slopes and the dark
side of buildings. The Snow Drops have started to bloom in the
courtyard, and even a few Crocuses getting ready to open. The
buds on this Dogwood are still tight, though.
"She is sitting there, a couple of branches below me,
and she
looks good again this year. I am looking around, pretending not
to see her. I look at those noisy sparrows over there. I look in
that big window. I have taught myself how to see past the shiny
surface and peek inside. It's like looking in a pool of water
and seeing what's on the bottom. I used to see only the
reflection on the hard surface and fight myself thinking it was
my rival on the other side, battering and battering the shiny
thing until I was so worn down I finally learned. I kept losing
feathers. Now it is fun looking in these windows. I never know
what I'll see. That guy in there is staring out at me from his
desk. He's in there a lot. When I first got here, three years
ago, I thought those plants inside were really outside, and I
couldn't figure how to get to them. They were green while the
world out here was still brown with winter, and I wanted to get
to that nice green world. It looks so protected, so unchanging.
I kept banging against the glass. It wouldn't let me in. I
wonder if I cock my head at him if he'll cock his back at me.
Nah. He won't do it. ... She's still on that branch. Waiting for
me to drop to the ground and pick up a few sticks. She wants me
to get started. Then she'll let me feather her."
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-- "No, maybe I'll sing a while first.
I feel like singing. I
feel my testosterone rise. It affects my throat, and I want to
sing.
(I share that with creatures near and far, even whales, so they
say.) After that long winter and the flight up here, time to
celebrate. Get sticks in a little while. She likes my songs
anyway. And the sun feels good on my back, good after the frosty
air last night. Cheer, cheer. Cheer, cheer. ... Those two
squirrels racing around down there, wrestling, soon they'll be
feathering too, if they haven't already. The nest is up there
under the eaves--city squirrels! Take the easy way, instead of
looking for a nice tall, full Oak.
"The Sparrows and Finches are really going after the
feeder
this afternoon. Not much good stuff in it. No sunflower seeds.
I'll have to cruise around and look for some. Maybe there's a
new feeder somewhere."
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-- "Look how those Sparrows fall for
that millet in the feeder.
The rusty-coated Finches are arguing with them for the food.
Ever since they arrived up here they have been giving the
Sparrows a hard time. Well, I don't care. I like the sunflower
seeds, myself. Today's time to gather more sticks. There are
lots on the ground, knocked down by the winter. We'll have all
we need by the time those brown-robed gardeners get to raking up
under the bushes. They're a slow lot. Here's a good stick. Up to
the nest we go. Soon I'll get to feather her. I'll have to do it
when he's not looking. He doesn't know about those things, and
he's too damn (oh, I shouldn't have said that!) curious."
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-- "I love the way the sun warms me
here. Here at the top, how
the sun's early glow gilds my red plumage. I'll woo her now. I feel
my throat filling with warbles of rich sound. I'll wreathe her
in the glory of my song, and I'll be irresistible. My glorious
red shall feather her and fill our nest with open mouths. Oh
come my love and listen to my song. Cheer, cheer. Here at
the
very top of the Linden tree we are out of his sight. We will not
be profaned by his lascivious eye. He is no better than the
Sparrows and the barn flies, they lecher in his sight, and he is
glad. He is a voyeur. He is easily pleased. We Cardinals know
better. We are discrete. We know the proper value of things."
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-- "That fool in there is sweating,
and so early in the morning,
too. Look how he gnashes his teeth in front of his unblinking
tube. Of course he missed it! Ha, ha. I could drop into the
Dogwood by his window and flash my feathers at him. Would he
guess my victory? Probably not. Poor fool. I'll drop to the
branch right in front of his window and sing him a few notes.
Not to brag, mind you, but just a few notes to celebrate the
richness of the morning. Then I'll go find a more interesting
window to peer into. Another one with no curtains."
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-- "Look at him
down there. He looks paler than usual, his face
is not as florid as is his wont. I can't say that. Too pretentious
for a bird. I think if I were to bang on the window he would
absolutely leap up in fright. I'll just tap with my bill. There.
Ha. He looks at me. His eye is frightened. Will he fly? Will
he
keep pecking at the keys? They won't let him do the Service
any more. He rubs his shoulder. He looks wild-eyed. Has he seen
the Merlin that flies so swift and strikes without warning? I
have seen the feathers in its bill and in those of its voracious
little ones. Beware. Beware. Beware its stoop. Its wings darken
the sky. It tears its prey with a hooked bill. Holding him in
its claws on a branch. And the feathers rain down like snow. I
just escaped it once, but its pinions brushed me as I dodged
into a bush, and the down-draft of wind from its wings knocked
me off course. Why does looking at him make me think of this?
Thank God its cousins the Peregrines are mostly gone. The
Kestrels are in the country. They with their beautiful horrible
plumage. It will be his fate to become me, then he will know.
The falcon will fly."
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-- "Look at the old buzzard. His face
is getting red again, and
his hair is scraggly on top. He's stopped pecking at the keys.
He's gazing out at me, but I don't think he sees me. Maybe he's
looking at his reflection in the window. Will he start beating
on the glass to get out? Is he seeing his rival? It's only
himself. Flapping and flapping to get past that little
transparent barrier? Maybe his soul wants out. Maybe he's
battling the red knight--or the black one. I have a grandstand
perch for the tournament."
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-- Cheer, cheer. From the
topmost branch. Cheer, cheer. I hope she's watching."