bird whisperer

Sunday morning coming down . .

Posted on Updated on

Striking cloud formations on Sunday morning over Ambergris Caye.
Striking cloud formations on Sunday morning over Ambergris Caye and incredibly clear water below.

 

I’m blue every Monday, thinkin’ over Sunday
That one day when I’m with you …
… But after pay day, is my fun day
I shine all day Sunday
That one day when I’m with you
That one day
It’s a fun day
Sunday is my day with you.

 

Oh man, Frankie, baby, you knew so well. Sundays are the kicks.

Two birds in the hand

The first bird to fly into the glass door on Sunday.
The first bird to fly into the glass door on Sunday.
Second bird to fly into the glass door on Sunday.
Second bird to fly into the glass door on Sunday.
Surprise! A third bird hits the door, this one on Monday afternoon. It too eventually flew away.
Surprise! A third bird hits the door, this one on Monday afternoon. It too eventually flew away.

And this Sunday kicked off  in unique style. With a dull thump. A small bird flew right into the sliding glass door on the living room porch and was sitting there motionless, stunned.

The sight took me back to a year earlier when  we found a bird, motionless, on its side but still breathing. It tried to stand up. And fell. I tried everything I could to revive it. Gentle strokes on the feathers, water, whispering and even a slight gentle rolling in a paper towel. The hit it took was too much and the bird died.

Later that day I was sitting on the steps, fixing my bicycle and still feeling badly about not being able to save the bird. A bird with very similar coloring landed next to me on the railing. Close enough that I could touch it. I did touch it. I stroked it on the beak and feathers on the back of its neck. It didn’t flinch. It didn’t flee..

I even brought it a little saucer of water, but it wasn’t interested.

Eventually it flew off, leaving me with the oddest feeling that I had just witnessed something beyond our normal scope of reality.

Read the rest of this entry »