The Birds

There is a cardinal on my stoop. I don’t see him very often, as he has other preoccupations. A job, perhaps. Sometimes he prefers other benches and porch swings to my silly veranda. He is called Henry most of the time, or Herbert on Tuesdays, or Harrison on Wednesdays, or Harriet on dimly lit Sundays when I have my glasses off.

Today was spectacular. He had a lover! And not only did he have a lover, but he came bearing gifts: pecans from the tree down the block. Jenny’s tree that hangs over the cobalt fence posts and rests two heavy, broad tree limbs over the edge to gawk at passersby.

All afternoon he was intensely focused. From Jenny’s to mine every five or so minutes, he would flap his little red wings onto the stoop and plop a pecan into the growing pile at his feet. Back and forth and back and forth. Every so often he would pause for a moment or two, sit and watch the cars fly by with wings he did not recognize, and then as quick as he paused he was up again and working. This went on until mid afternoon as the sun began to yawn behind the first leaves of the taller trees. It seemed tedious to me, but to him there was no other option. He must show his admiration. He must be prepared.

The things we do for love.

It was dusk; she arrived. A real head turner, she gleefully waved her musky everglade wings and stretched her claws wide to land gracefully behind him.

I imagined him blushing when he saw her. His body language shifted; he became meek, shy, flustered. He kept swaying his head from side to side, stepping toward her in a dance of desire. The bird equivalent of blushing, I suppose.

He gestured toward the pecan pile— she squealed in delight. She poked through them, taking in the curves and lines of each one with intense concentration, chirping her approval as he keenly watched her. She picked her three favorites and nested over them.

Side by side they stayed, watching the clouds roll in and the sky grow dull. At peace, with nowhere to be, bundled together with feathered coats neatly zipped and fastened.

Evening— they kissed goodbye, looked at my slyly through the window (as if to say: pity you who has no wings to leave) and gingerly lept off the porch and into the starlit road. I watched as they weaved in and out of each other’s path, a playful goodbye to an afternoon romance.

I have much to learn from the birds who give to those they love, and sit in peaceful stillness on hazy afternoons.