Winged Ones Aware

Long, long ago in a commonwealth far from ours, we went awalking. The idea was my friend’s. A bird walk, well led, sounded great. That morning, we learned to hear, among other bird songs, “finch talk.”

Quick notes, moving up and down the scale, are their form of conversation. Emphasis seems to be placed on a particular pitch for a brief second now, then later. Energetic, rapid little bursts of melody are the finch’s chat. The desire to express could be found rather darling.

Weeks ago, a bird encounter nearly overwhelmed me. Had stepped out in a new neighborhood for a picnic lunch. Picture striking white and tawny long stripes when in flight. If I felt noticed as new to the scene, maybe I was. The interval was appropriate, courteous even.

Then to a bush beside me, he came. He perched close enough for his volume of projection to impress. He began his song. A phrase of one bird, a phrase of another, the third radically different, flowed from him. The girl could only listen. Trying to identify the array of sounds being mimicked was beyond my skill level.

The song went on and on, as none this writer had ever before witnessed. The sheer length of the work quite amazed. And complexity wins respect. The range of voices and tones would exhaust any actor to try to replicate. On the receiving end, our response could be called awe.

He had come to me. When he delivered what qualified as an opera, off he went. Not long later, he returned, above my right shoulder, near. Am honored. To make sure, a second stunning piece was sung.

My walk then took me to a friend’s, four properties away. He found me. He came within seven feet. He wanted me to know he knew. Attention flatters. Oh, and mockingbirds can do a freefall. The dramatic belongs to them. If no human eyes were on them, the antics might be fewer. Repeated flybys at very close range are no accident. A message is trying to reach us.

Back at home, the lovely catbird is nearly a buddy. His interest cannot be denied. When I sit, he decides to offer. When I look for him, he, catlike, can choose to be unseen. At moments, he likes to be visible. The timing of visits, of sweet joyous music suggests a form of purpose.