A Spring Birds Song
There was a bird last year in my backyard that built a nice little nest in a small tree. It was a bad location, over concrete, and a giant Tomcat made his twice daily walks right underneath it. The tree was flimsy, it itself still being a young, not fully mature apple tree. I could see why the females weren’t so interested. By the time mating season was winding down, he still hadn’t found a mate. His desperate calls became more and more frantic and urgent; he sqwacked out louder, he went all day, with no breaks, and very late into the nights, just to begin again at an ungodly hour of the day that can hardly yet be called morning. A week prior it had been annoyance I'd felt at the never-ending sqwacking of the little bird, but now... my heart felt a bit broken for him.
For God’s sake, can a female just go to him, I thought to myself. It was pathetic before, and irritating, but now.. his desperation towards the end was nearly heart-breakingly unbearable. All seemed grim. I began thinking, why don’t any of the girl birds like him? Are his colors not bright enough, maybe? I mean, sure, his nest wasn’t the best, and it was in a poor and possibly dangerous location. But surely, there must be someone. Isn’t there someone for everyone? There must be. I pitied him.
Eventually a female did heed his call, and nest with him; they quickly had just one cute little chick, who chirped brightly every morning for her meal. Her new parents would stand proudly on each side of the nest, protecting her. Sometimes they'd fly off, leaving her alone, and if they weren't back quickly enough once her morning chirps began, I'd again hear that familiar desperation creep slowly into her chirps. But only for a moment, and they were back. They were good, attentive bird parents.
I marveled at how the little nestling instinctually knew and was clever enough to stop her meek chirping when the tomcat would walk by; in any case though, I still kept a subtle, close watch on them.
And then, just like that, it was quiet again. A few weeks later the nest was empty, they having migrated (I assume) on to the next place.
I often wondered over the preceeding months if I'd see them again, if they’d be back. Together in their nest. As time went on, the small leaves on the apple tree turned shades of orange and red, before finally falling off, exposing the birds small nest, which also eventually succumbed to the wind.
It was a few days ago, that I heard a familiar skwacking.
He's picked a nicer tree this year. Bigger; with large, sturdy branches and lots of vibrant green leaves and foliage for optimal coverage. Neatly trimmed, soft grass encompases the space below it. I’ve watched him as he neurotically picks through our lawn, foraging for just the right pieces to add to his new nest; picking up one piece of dried grass or leaf at a time, discarding it quickly if it's not up to par. He’s picky this time, not so careless. He’s been putting time into making this nest.
I’m glad he’s back.
