SET IT FREE
Prompt - Set it Free : Think of a time when you had to let someone or something go to be free... did they come back?
I check the windowsill every morning. It is always bare. I lie, there was a pigeon there a couple of weeks ago. Too big and puffed up and annoying to fool me. Vermin. None of the charm, the colour, the exuberance of Siya. Black head, green back, yellow breast, that's what I want to see.
He turned up four months ago. On that same windowsill. At first sight I watched with wonder at something so perfect coming so close to my tiny fetid bedsit. At second sight I looked on with concern. For all the beauty of the colours it was clear that something was wrong. Birds can't do facial expressions, but the body language was eloquent. Forlorn. A closer examination showed a dull eye and flat feathers. And an appeal for help. Yes, I was anthropomorphising, but don't we all? Doesn't every cat and dog owner? And hamster and snake and even the mindless goldfish?
I reached out of the open window, took him in my hands, trying to find the balance between conviction and deadly. Brought him in and thought "what now?". I didn't have a cage. And what did tits eat, what did I need if I was to coax this wee refugee back to health? I put him on the table, closed the window. He didn't move much, but kept an eye on my every movement.
Google. He was a Great Tit. Largest of the tit family. Eats insects, nuts and seeds. I had some brazil nuts, and pumpkin seeds. I broke up a nut, added some seeds, presented him with his dinner on a saucer, and he pecked half heartedly. Hungry, but without the energy to satisfy that need.
A bit more internet research, I emptied out the box I kept my cables in, punched a few air holes, and line it with scrunched up paper. It wasn't much, but the best I could do at short notice. Placed him gently in his new bedroom. I put the lid on, but then kept worrying about him, so I took it off and he seemed to like being able to see me. Well, I thought so.
Next day I did some more research, went to a pet shop, asked questions, bought supplies, gave him a new home where I could observe, and followed the health restoration advice I'd found. A week passed, the improvement was clear, another week and he was flying about my room, summoning his impatience. Another week and I realised I had no justification for keeping this wild creature captive. With a sense of ritual I placed him back on his windowsill. He sang his rusty gate song, gave an expressive flutter, and blurred into the air. I missed him immediately.
Did he know? For he was back within the hour, hopped in freely, returned to his 'room'. I did a little dance.
This pattern continued for four days. Until it didn't. Each time the flight had got a bit longer, a bit longer, but now it became endless. Maybe he wanted a night out and would be back tomorrow?
But he wasn't. Or the next day, or the next. I knew it was right, that he was wild, not suited to my muted domesticity. But that didn't stop me missing him
So now I check the windowsill every morning. It's always bare.
No comments:
Post a Comment