Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Prompt Entry #4 - Little Bird

It is summer.  I've seen you in my yard for the past several days now, your soft down feathers and light colors show me that you are still barely a fledgling.  You let me get very close to you, and you do not fly off, although you hobble a little, and this causes you to fall head first into the ground at times, you stay still, you almost ignore me.  Yesterday, we heard tweeting in the garage because the door was open.  And there you were, you made an attempt to fly off, but you sort of just muddled about and hid. But today...  Today, you let me pick you up and hold you.  Despite this and the fact that you won't eat any worms, baby robin, little bird, I cannot succumb to the thought that you will soon die.  I stroke your tiny head with just one finger and you close your eyes: a soothing touch on a young body that feels old and weary.  We build you a little makeshift house, your final resting place.  This way a predator won't get you, and you can die in peace.  What happened to you, little bird?  Did your mother leave you because you could not fly?  I try the worms again, this time I crush them.  I usually do not touch worms, but for you I will.  I will try to help you.  You still do not eat, and I know you will soon die.  I check on you often.  You, laying in your makeshift bird house, your final resting place, look at me with empty, sad eyes.  I'm sorry I could not help you more.  But this is the way of nature, little bird, baby robin, and some day I will be in your position.  As the day goes by you become incontinent, but you still hold on to life.  I can barely stand how terrible I feel, watching you, but I clean the waste around you, and leave you alone.  By nightfall you have become as nature intends all of its living creatures, I bury you by the sparrow that flew into the window just a few months before.  And you will be by the older robin I will find in just a few weeks. 

A few days after I bury you, it is early morning, and the sun has risen. I am awakened by a frantic scratching at the window above my head.  In a sleepy daze, I open the blind.  There you are little bird, once I see you, you settle on the outside sill, and you look at me.  You're here to tell me that you made it to the other side.  And that you are grateful for my help.  Thank you for coming back.  It has been almost 2 years and I have not forgotten you, and I never will.  I will see you again, I'm sure of it. 
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The inspiration for this story is completely nonfiction, even the second part, about it coming to my window.  The truth is, a baby robin, one that looked just like the one that had died, was flying about my window, and it did settle as I opened the blind.  It looked at me, it was the same robin.  I know I sound crazy, but I believe it was, in its spirit form.  And I hate myself now, I was so damn sleepy (I didn't dream it, that I'm sure of) that I just looked at it and went back to bed. I really regret not pondering it more.  But if it was that little robin's ghost, he/she knows that I saw it, and that I am really glad it came back to me, to tell me it was alright.

It was odd that I had seen the bird in the yard for a few days and that the day I had finally picked it up and held it, was the day it died.  I feel like the bird just needed some compassion, and it could die complacently.  I am still moved writing all of this, and it brings me to tears, seeing the cruelty that nature can represent for this little robin.  But I know of the importance of life, as well as death, for all creatures, myself included.

I feel as though for this entry, I did not need to do research on the animal, I learned firsthand the effects of dying and all that it encompasses: lethargy, no appetite, incontinence.  This was the first time I experienced these things for myself, having heard about the nature of death, but never being exposed to it personally.  Even without the research, I became very intimate with the juvenile bird.  And I was able to experience all that he was feeling and the nature of his death.  You will never be forgotten little bird!      

5 comments:

  1. Wow. What an incredibly beautiful and moving story. Thanks so much for posting it. It's strange how these experiences--sometimes lasting only a day or two--can change us forever.

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  2. Take two at posting this comment . . .

    So, there's a great tenderness in your post, and it reminds me so much of a poem by Michael Ryan that recounts a similar experience with a wounded bird. I'm fairly certain that it's "Not the End of the World" from his collection God Hunger. I've spent the past two hours running around my house, stomping up and down stairs to try to find my copy of it. Alas, alack, no luck tonight. I have no idea where it went, and I really wanted to send you a copy of that poem. I can't find it online, but as soon as I find that book, I'll send you a copy of the poem. Assuming I'm remembering the right poem, that is. . .

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  3. Please do send it to me if you find it! In the meantime I may look for it online myself and see what I find, or next time I go to the book store! I'd love to read it though, thanks!

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  4. I got a little teary reading that. What a moving post.

    @Dylan: I'd really like to see that poem as well!

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  5. Yeah, so I am just going to echo what has been said: very moving, emotionally driven,and lyrical.

    I also like the admission of your "learning" being first hand. Very powerful. Nice post.

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