Bird Week

Dear Maria,

Greetings! Still summer despite what local school calendars proclaim. For me, the past week was my own version of Bird Week—obviously, Birdnado would be overkill—and a week for processing very difficult news for a number of folks in my community of friends and colleagues. Of course, Shark Week was much more dramatic than my bird moments, and I have friends who can tout encounters with bears and foxes or the wily coyotes that are invading the local landscape. But, me? I have birds.

Monday, as I went across the street for the mail, a bluebird streaked overhead and landed in the neighbor’s no-so-healthy poplar. Before I could turn around and head back to the house, another two bluebirds flew into the cover of yellow and green leaves and suddenly a half-dozen flew out, all in different directions. Now, I hadn’t seen a bluebird for nearly six weeks. Maybe more—uncertain because I don’t keep a bird-watch journal. Late that afternoon I saw a young male bluebird perch of the top of the condo out back for a few minutes. So, was that their version of divvying up the local real estate for next spring’s hatch?

Had to water around mid-week as no rainfall for a while—much to Max’s relief, no storms to send him under chairs or into closets. When I slid open the patio door to go turn off the sprinkler, nearly two dozen crows rose up from behind the knockouts and japonicas, where they were out of sight until I flushed them. They rose four or five at a time and then off to the neighbor’s stand of trees. Soundlessly. Very disconcerting. I thought I ought to write a poem about the moment, but I figured Mr. Stevens had done enough with black-feathered birds. Perhaps I should get out the book on symbols again.

I have already complained about the hawk that sounds off just before dawn with its loud and persistent cries, but she—or if a young male, he—got an aggressive visit from a large male Thursday morning. The small hawk flushed two kites out of one of the tallest pines on my side of the street, and within a minute, out the corner of my eye, I saw the second hawk flying up from a lower vantage and then land on top of the smaller bird. There was much flapping and shrieking, but the summering bird took off pretty quickly with the more powerful interloper in pursuit.

The big hawk that prowls this neighborhood doesn’t usually show until October. Don’t know if this is the same bird, but I haven’t seen or heard another hawk or the pair of kites for three days.

A flurry of action, a flurry of sad news, and just seven days passing by. In the news, a tragic car accident that hit me hard, hard in the heart, and news of cancer striking again and again. Seems so often these days we hear that word, cancer. Like some muffled cadence, again and again. Even in the quiet of my routine, a retreat of sorts, life pushes ahead, sometimes a thrashing.

Two house finches are tumbling about in the young elms. Ever onward, we go.

A very warm wish for peace and safety for you and your family.

As before, just, srk