Monday, October 4, 2010

Blue Symphony

They’re rather frantic and quarrelsome, aggressive, disagreeable, skittish bullies. I wait for their beautiful song --- hope they will find the mood --- give in to whatever magical impulse inspires them to one voice of joy and praise, their unique ode to beauty, a gem of sound, a symphony.

How can such a joyous self-conscious blending of voices into one hymn of praise emanate from this band of curmudgeons? I’ve only heard it a few times over the years; perhaps this year.

I spy on them from the kitchen window lest they sprint into the spruce for cover. They’re clearly guilty – of something – or just guilty in essence. The magnificent, serene, blue spruce spreads her arms in embrace of all the winged patrons at the feeder; an unconditional lover and protectress, a perch, a screen, a lookout for all, including the blue jays. Only the Hawks ignored her, now that I think of it. Did they have no guilt, no need of sheltering love? How foolish - such stretching of metaphor – to make what point? Carnivores are playful in the enjoyment of their hunt /attack/devour role. Those hiding in the spruce might be dinner. It occurs to me that I rarely hear or see blue jays in high summer when the hawks are in residence. I suppose they’d make an easy target, a quick lunch.

A related story is the arrival of a new cardinal at the feeder. He’s smaller, lighter in color and less regal; bit of a wimp too, not taking up the old sentinel stance on top of the crook stand; it was actually this difference that convinced me. He was an outsider. It’s so hard to accept a newcomer. The widow appeared unchanged, however, apparently accepting her lot without remorse. One wonders. Am I deranged to feel sad at the loss of a bird in my yard? Rome is burning and I’m bird watching.

There is absolutely no end to the assault of the guilt mongers soliciting one’s attention daily, hourly, through the mail, the news, the computer, the phone - high screams, low whispers, cold shoulders and dirty looks, demanding and scolding. DO MORE!

I wonder if I could crawl under the low spreading branches of the spruce and wait in silence for the blue jays' symphony.