Bird on a Wire…
Yesterday, I came in to feed the dogs and ferret through the fridge for the last gulp of sweet tea. After refueling both beast and man, I heard the faintest of flutters, the light dusting of the walls and windows in the living room. Upon investigation, I discovered a wee winged one scouring the ceiling and repeatedly trying to break through the plaster’s cloudy hue to reach the great outdoors. (Perhaps my ceiling paint color “Coastal Sky” was too literally realized.)
I sat down and remained still, waiting for it to land on a sill or perch on one of the dusty knickknacks so well-represented in the room. As if tethered by light fishing line, the little warbler circled the old gas chandelier in the center of the room, failing to recognize freedom through any of three open doors mere feet away. Though I must say, my living room ceiling enjoyed a more appealing blue color then did the sky that day.
I finally stood up and urged the bird the remain calm. (Did I mention I live alone.) After a short breather on the chandelier, it made its move toward a closed window. The impact, painful to watch, didn’t seem to cause injury to the bird, but did give me enough time to rushed over, gently cupped it with my hands, and save it from itself and the jaws of a curious bulldog. (Boz’s mantra: if it moves, it’s food.) I took three steps to the porch and opened my palms. The wee warbler darted off to the woods. Freedom was enjoyed by all. Boz and Gracie returned to snoozing on the lawn, and I to working under a more authentic color of coastal sky. Though on this day I may have to take an old proverb to task. While a bird in the hand is truly a magical thing, a bird in the bush is even better.