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February 11, 2001
Sunday - A Flicker of Hope
Just finishing up some business with my good friend Jones, washing up our coffee cups in the kitchen sink, when we hear a window-thump -- we look at each other -- we both know what that means -- a bird hit the glass. Sure enough, there, lying on the back deck is a beautiful, big Flicker (Oh how I love these birds! So shy -- their gaze so wide they always see me). Now it lies close to me and still. It lies on its back, spotted breast to the sky, it's talons curled, blinking eyes in full stun. Asia, beautiful grey cat of a girl, is curled over the Flicker, but she hasn't taken it yet. I step out, bend down and pick it up, wrapping it in the blue sweater I'm wearing -- hoping to keep it warm in its shock. (It is shock we die of, no matter the wound). I saw myself there. I knew that look. I pulled the bottom of my sweater over the Flicker in a kind of tent, rolled from the bottom over the bird. "Oh please live," I whispered to it, it's heart beating into my hand where I held it.
The heartbeat was strong. I kissed its feathers, so soft against my mouth. I held it for a long time, checking every now and then. It's beak, long and pointed opened and closed at the tip, opened and closed ... it's eyes opened and closed. I took it outside and put it on a moss covered log in the shade garden. It looked around a little, it rested. I decided to put it in a box overnight, but as I approached, it took flight ... along with my heart. The bird flew high and well. It made a huge grin spread across my face, and I took it as a Good Sign, a Power Sign, from Stun to Flight. It was a good day.
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