they are the common folk of bird land.
maybe they’re not brightly colored.
maybe their chirruping is not the most melodious.
maybe they can be a nuisance if you park under a tree where they reside.
they have ALWAYS been a favorite of mine! my whole life i have loved them!
they are full of cheer and spunk and a cheeky joy that just makes my day.
maybe i should have named my tiny apartment ‘ the sparrow house ‘
instead of the wren house. just to honor them because i love them so.
there is a stillness in here now. finally.
it’s a deafening stillness this is.
oh . . . the big window is open. the air unseasonably cool.
the outside bird sounds and traffic up on the distant highway can easily be heard.
the stillness in here is deafening to me.
it’s deafening because of what is now missing.
four days ago . . .
i began hearing a scrambling sound in my fireplace.
the flue is metal and the fireplace has a stone surround.
the damper was closed. i haven’t used this fireplace in the entire four years here.
and i never intend to.
they do no maintenance or checking of them here and that to me spells warning.
the scrambling sound was unmistakable.
a little bird was trapped.
for four days and sometimes even in the night i have heard that frantic tiny being
trying . . . trying . . . and then a silent exhaustion . . . and then trying again.
the maintenance men thought it was between the stone wall and the flue.
i never did.
i KNEW it was in the flue. i have been hearing it for too long to not know it.
there was nothing MUFFLED about that horrible trapped frantic scrambling.
i put a small lamp in the opening . . . to light its way down to the open damper.
thinking if it came into my room i would open both french doors and it could
easily escape. i put down a glass pie plate with water. hoping it could smell or
sense the life giving liquid.
i talked gently to it. it seemed to grow to know my voice. at first it would go
totally silent when i approached the fireplace opening. then it got used to me
i guess. because it still tried to scramble out . . . even with me there.
it lasted far longer than i ever thought possible.
last night i lie in bed sobbing right out loud like a small child.
i know. i know.
it’s not like my mother or bob or even my little zeke . . .
all that very real suffering and long drawn out months on end of the dying
from cancer. after all they were human. and so important in my life.
this was simply one tiny bird.
i know. i know.
with all the REALLY SERIOUS problems on this earth right now . . .
i was crying my heart out over this one tiny winged soul.
i have always had an affinity for all living things.
i can’t explain it. i just have. from the time i was a little child.
it’s as if they’re PART of me. who i am. it’s too sensitive i know. but it just
when i was young it was there and i would try to hide it because most adults
think you’re silly to go on about things like that. they think you need
so i would suffer in silence.
and yes. i also literally HUG trees! i always have. i always will.
i never even knew it was a political label until i was fully grown.
and for some reason it’s a rather derogative label at that.
i don’t understand why everything political has to be so hateful and cruel really.
but i digress.
in my sobbing i cry out to the universe.
“YOU KNOW you could free that little being! I KNOW and YOU KNOW!
you COULD! i CAN’T! PLEASE! PLEASE! DO SOMETHING!
even if it dies. just do SOMETHING!
i can no longer stand to hear its suffering!”
way before daylight i was awakened by a loud metal scrambling sound.
one last vital effort?
i had slept hardly at all throughout the night. . . my drowsy eyes closed.
and soon i was fast asleep.
come daylight and i got a call from my dearest friend celia in the city.
she asked how i was. she knows me and knows that this was taking a toll.
we talked. i hung up.
i went over to the fire place opening.
there . . . a large mound of black soot. where it had been swept clean before.
not one scrape. not one rustle.
all morning . . . all day up until now . . . i have been waiting . . .
listening to see if i heard the tiniest sound coming from that chamber of death.
i want to think this
and so I SHALL. regardless. i shall think what i want to think.
i think i was heard.
i think that the tiny winged soul found its way out with strength from the
and i think the mound of jet black soot is a sign left for me that it did.
it’s what i want to believe and so i will.
and that is the story of a tiny winged soul.
til soon old bean.