bird_dreams

Chapter 24

2008-03-25T07:47:00.000-07:00

Talk about myths getting tangled up, facts joining hands, information getting all skewered… I live in an area where there are many large black birds. I think of them as Crows, except some of them are SO big I can’t help wondering if the BIG ONES are Ravens. An added confusion is that Edgar Allan Poe (The “Father” of the Detective Story Genre) and his world-famous poem, THE RAVEN, is very popular here. Hence, the added wistful yearning that some of these black birds, here, are Ravens.

I’ve seen pictures of Ravens – some Ravens’ beaks are very large. It looks heavy. Can the bird lift his or her head up with a “mouth” that large? Joke, that. I don’t know if the black birds here have that type of beaks.

A group of Ravens is called “an unkindness”. A group of Crows is called “a murder”. I just read, online, “only poets refer to them that way; scientists do not.”

Hmm, that’s too bad [for the scientist]! Life is more fun if you can “dress it up”!

I also read online that Ravens and Crows are the same bird! Now THAT’S CONFUSING!

At the Tower of London, there is a pair of Ravens. Their wings are “clipped”, I think. I know they can’t leave. The reason these Ravens are prevented from leaving the Tower is due to a long, long-standing myth that London would fall if the Ravens left the Tower.

Now, that’s a powerful myth.

Humans thrive on symbols and stories. Think of how humans flock to churches, mosques, temples. There is darn little there, in those buildings, connected to fact – it is all feeling, and faith.

I have read the stories about Ravens and I have read the stories about Crows. Raven “stories” are filled with mystery, power, and intelligence. They are supposed to be VERY heavily endowed with spiritual symbolic implications.

I like those symbols. I KNOW that Crows are very smart and very mischievous. Yet, when I read about Crows (and their symbolic implications), I am let down – they aren’t as heavily “charged” as the Ravens.

The information, about Ravens, at least online, is all mixed up with Crows. Both type of birds are supposed to be EXTREMELY smart.

Where I live, it is hard to tell whether the huge black birds are Crows or Ravens.

I think I’m going to think Crow… Raven… emotional symbolic implications … are the same. If everyone else blends them, why can’t I?

Chapter 23

2008-03-24T14:06:00.000-07:00

I don’t understand the urge to keep birds in cages. If you’ve watched birds as they fly through the sky, if you’ve watched them land on the highest branch of the tree, spiral up on the thermal of rising air - why would you want to cage them? I think the urge to cage a bird, is primitive, and not a nice one - jealousy towards a creature who can fly and you can’t – and a wish to possess a precious bright jewel.

We humans are full of emotions, some of them not so nice.

I’ve seen parakeets in cages, all my life. I’ve smiled when I’ve seen them and I’ve listened. However, a few years ago, I saw a special on Television on the animals [and birds] of Australia. To my thunderous amazement, I saw a HUGE flock of PARAKEETS flying through the sky!

This rocked my senses, and changed my perception of this small bird. I never thought about those beautiful, bright colored birds as anything but a small bird that you keep in prison, for your personal pleasure [and not his/hers].

Parakeets are small to medium-sized birds who generally have long-tail feathers -- in comparison to the rest of their body, understand?

The “Pet” Parakeet didn’t start out as pet. Their proper name is Budgerigar, or Budgie. They come from the drier parts of Australia and have lived in the neighboring islands, of Australia, for over 5 millions years.

Can you believe that, five million years! An older orthographic term, for the parakeet is “paroquet”.

However, I’d like to call them by their original name, Budgerigar! BUDGIE!

Seeing that special about Australia’s environment changed how I feel about those birds and the idea of caging a creature that is meant to fly! Do you hear me, there are HUGE FLOCKS of bright little budgies flying through the sky!

There is also a group of wild budgies in San Francisco, California. They are descendents of parakeets who were let free [abandoned] by their owners. There is a man in San Francisco, a homeless man, who’s made it his life’s work to take care of these wild bright jewels in San Francisco. There was a documentary done on this man, in the last ten years. It’s kind of cool, what he does. Makes me wish, I were there. I’d like to meet him.

If I kept a bird in my home, I’d probably have to let it fly, give it/him/her his own room. I can’t stand the idea of being “beauty’s jailer.”

I’d rather keep the Budgie in my heart as a symbol of hope -- for nature, and for beauty.

Chapter 22

2008-03-21T14:21:00.000-07:00

A Lyrebird is a ground-dwelling Australian bird. (There are two species – Superb L., or Albert’s L, named after Prince Albert, the husband of Queen Victoria.). They are “Mimicking Specialists” – because their syrinx muscles are “complex”. I don’t know what this means, I am not a scientist. I’ve never seen a Lyrebird, but I’ve heard them on Television – and I WISH I could see one. They can imitate – other birds, chatter of a flock of birds, other animals, and human noises, machinery of all kinds, explosions and musical instruments. I read that a Lyrebird can carry two tunes at the same time!

Humans are jealous creatures, I think. We saw birds fly, and we wanted to fly. We couldn’t do it naturally, so we built the machine to carry us. We listened to the birds, and we tried to sing – like them. Sometimes a beautiful singer [human] will be complimented, like so – “she sings like a bird.”

Can humans mimic as well as the Lyrebird? Again, not naturally (although some try!), but then we created tape recorders, electronic studios, where sounds are blended together.

We always want to be more than what we are, humans. We’ve done a good job of it, too. Our ability to create is commendable. I wonder though - will we ever fly to close to the sun, like Icarus… [in the myth of the son and father, who flew with waxwings over the sea. Icarus’ wings melted, because his curiosity got the better of him. His ego soared… too high. He wanted the sun, so he flew up, up up, until he fell into the sea.].

Perhaps a Lyrebird could be thought of as a fun loving, feathered storyteller. Well, you have to have a cast of thousands to get the story right, hmm. Therefore, perhaps, the Lyrebird creates his characters, through the extraordinary range of his voice.

Chapter 21

2008-03-16T18:26:00.000-07:00

A great exercise, and meditation [in movement], is the “Standing Crane” position. You stand, balanced, on one leg, while you lift the other leg up, knee bent. You place your hand out in front of you, palms facing the direction you are looking “towards.” This is not easy, and yet, when I pull it off, I do think of the Crane, standing in the water, on one leg. I feel a kind of peace, with that thought.

However, I just realized that the “Cranes” I have seen, in my geographic area, are not Cranes, but Egrets, which are Herons. The main difference between these two bird clans is that when the Crane flies he extends his neck and head out. He is a pencil. The Egret flies with his head pulled back, his neck a winding road. He is a crooked house.

But …. !?*%&^^%^#! The peace I felt seeing the Egret standing in the water, in a nearby creek, was real. I thought “crane”, and I remembered the mythological lore of the Crane in Asian countries - the cranes' beauty and their spectacular mating dances have made them highly symbolic birds in many cultures with records dating back to ancient times. In Korea and Japan, certain set of people peform Crane Dances. The crane is a symbol of longevity [often represented with other symbols of long life – such as pine, bamboo, and the tortoise].

When I’ve seen the Egret fly, it is like watching a sculpture moving through the air – that neck which stays – a stairway with steep steps. They astound me.

According to tradition, if one folds 1000 origami cranes one’s wish for health will be granted.

Could I have my wish granted - that I can think of the Crane’s myth, when I see the Egret? How different are these birds?

Chapter 20

2008-03-12T18:01:00.000-07:00

“To dream of the Eagle is to be spiritually validated as a person of great wisdom and insight concerning both this world and the spiritual realities beyond.”

What if you see one, by chance [and you’re wide-awake]?

This morning, I was driving down the road, a four-lane highway divided by a grass median. At one particular stretch, the houses disappear, the turnpike is a faint faraway growl, and the restaurants with their bright colored signs and lights have disappeared. At this particular stretch of the road, there are trees on either side of the road – a four lane-highway, one road going one way, the other road going the other way.

On the other side of the road, I saw, high in the trees, a large shape. It was a huge bird, perched in the uppermost branches. It was so big, that I immediately thought it must be a Vulture, because Vultures are that big, and there are many, many Vultures in this geographical area. However, as I approached that spot in the road, as I was on the opposite side of this tall tree, and huge bird, I looked at it, hard.

I caught my breath. The feathers on his back were brown, not black, like a Vulture. His head and neck wasn’t red, like a Vulture.

His head and neck were covered with white feathers.

I knew it was a Bald Eagle. That startled me. It is unusual to see one, here.

My first reaction was to wonder/think about what it means – was this symbol, hope?

They are supposed to be symbols of power. Makes sense that the USA would choose the Bald Eagle as its national bird and symbol.

That’s what I thought was “weird”. Here I was going to teach a class, where I was going to talk about the Star Spangled Banner, which is the national anthem of the USA, and I see the National Bird on my drive there [to the college].

About a year or so ago, on another road, I thought I saw an Eagle, as well – but this bird was all brown feathers - I just read that the young Bald Eagles are completely enveloped by brown feathers (their white headdress develops as they mature)… The reason why I thought that bird was an Eagle was that he just didn’t “look” or “feel” like a Hawk. I don’t know.

I have no doubt that the bird I saw this morning was an Eagle.

That’s rare, I think. They like to be away from humans, and they like to be near large bodies of water, and streams. Where I saw this bird, was an old woods/tangled up tall thicket. The water nearby is more of a marsh, at least near the road! Still, where I live is an important rest stop, for migratory birds! This little old state is a tropical oasis for birds!

Bald Eagles are birds of prey – their diet consists mainly of fish. I read online that the Bald Eagle builds the largest nest of any North American bird, up to 13 ft deep, 8 ft. wide, and 1.1 tons in weight (!#$%*%$$!!!!!, in regards to how much this nest weighs!)

I also read that the Bald Eagle soars [flies] on “thermal convection currents”, heat, baby, heat! It reaches a speed of 35-44 miles per hour, while gliding, and flapping and 30 miles per hour while carrying fish.

This symbol of power, the national bird of the USA [you’ll find his portrait on many American coins] squeaks. He has a shrill cry, punctuated by grunts.

Its symbolism goes back further than the beginning of the USA. The Eagle is a symbol of great wisdom and vision for the Native Americans, specifically Navajo and Crow Native American legend. The Eagle also graces the pages of ancient Greek and Hebrew literature.

In Native American lore, if someone dreams of an Eagle, he or she walks outside of society – touched by the hand of the Great Spirit.

What does it mean when you see one?

I felt like I had glimpsed something, private, special. I felt – honored.

It was queer feeling. Not bad, just … odd.

Chapter 19

2008-03-10T04:55:00.000-07:00

Microcosm reflects the macrocosm. If you have problems in coping [with your life], look towards Nature – be humble. You CAN find your answers if you only look – and recognize.

There is a saying “banging your head against the wall”. I feel like my life is that – so many times, that’s all I feel like I’m doing, in trying to get things done, in trying to get through to another human being, in trying to SUCCEED. Bang your head against the wall until it crumbles. Bang your head against the wall until someone on the other side goes Huh, who’s there? Bang your head against the wall until you collapse.

Is that my life? Perhaps, it is.

This weekend, I decided to contemplate the Woodpecker. Until this last year, I’ve never thought much about woodpeckers. Love the bird, laughed at the cartoon, “Woody Woodpecker.” However, Woodpeckers never meant much in my microcosm.

Until recently - there was an old tree on my property. I was aware that it was dying. It grieved me. This tree meant a lot to me. It’s been in my life for a long time.

During the summer, I heard this PECK PECK PECK PECK. Or should I say POUND POUND POUND?I went outside, and looked up towards this tree, and saw a wee black and white bird with a tiny bit of red on his scalp.

It was a woodpecker! He was so energetic, that he almost seemed cheerful.

I was filled with - a giggle. At first, I thought, no no don’t hurt my tree, but then I realized, he was going after the insects that were killing the tree. Therefore, I cheered my little black and white friend on.

A woodpecker has a thick skull. His pounding “his head against the wall” doesn’t hurt him. How do I get “tough” enough, to emulate the woodpecker?

I would be in my room, and I would hear him, from time to time, peck, peck, peck, peck.

Well, he didn’t save that tree. However, my bush, outside my window needs tending – and I saw him there, again, within the month. Made me smile, that.

The woodpecker looks for weaknesses in the wood. He finds the soft spots, and then he pecks his way through.

Maybe that’s the answer. Look for the soft spot in the wall, before I begin pounding my head against it.

The woodpecker also hammers against the wood to announce his presence, and claim his territory. I can’t help thinking of the old cliché “pecking order…” I like the concept of the woodpecker. I think I want to be him.

Nobody pecks on me! (Pick, peck, get it?)

Chapter 18

2008-03-07T06:58:00.000-08:00

Years ago, I had read a children’s nature book on the Turkey Vulture, aka, Buzzard. It was a good book, and made me like the bird. This book pointed out that the Vulture is like the garbage collector of the natural world. He feeds almost exclusively on carrion, i.e., DEAD animals. He cleans up. Therefore, the Vulture is useful. He has a job to do.

Still, he is frightening, in a genuflecting sort of way. When I see a Vulture flying in the air I stop and watch. He is so peaceful. I read, recently, that vultures use “thermals” (rising currents of warm air), to move across the sky, so the vulture doesn’t have to move his wings very often.

The Vulture, for me, is a symbol that death is inevitable. His peaceful flight, intimates that we should “relax” and “accept”.

Vultures fly HIGH in the sky. I’m amazed that the smell of the dead animals (gases rising) would reach them. Is that because the gases are that strong, or that the Vulture’s sense of smell is that powerful?

Recently, I saw a group of Turkey Vultures sitting in a tree. I almost drove off the road, when I saw them. Well, I’ve seen Crows perched at the top branches of a tree. A vulture is about five times the size of a crow. To see a group of them in a tree was overwhelming. They are social animals. Interestingly enough, they lack a “syrinx – the vocal organ of birds”. That’s probably why you would never hear them sing. They grunt. They hiss.

Once, I was walking through a cemetery and I saw a pair of Vultures high in the sky, above my head. I couldn’t help but whisper, “I’m still alive! Go away!”

(I found a picture of Griffon Vulture. He's the one with the "white head". There are many different kinds of Vultures throughout the world. I’ve never seen this particular vulture. I couldn’t help but include this picture. He is impressive.)

Chapter 17

2008-03-06T08:25:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I wish I knew more "facts" about the American Robin (a bird). He/she is a migratory bird who is supposed to be the herald of Spring. When you see your first Robin, it is a sign that Spring is here.

A few years back a woman told me that her husband, a learned "birdman" said that that was a myth, that Robins don't migrate, that they stay here all year round. I know that I have seen them, hiding in the bare bushes, during the winter months (as I walk around town).

Being told that, that Robins don't leave and come back at the beginning of Spring, was devastating. The Robins being the first sign of Spring was part of my childhood.

However, recently, I read on-line that Robins DO migrate. I've also read it in books.

Here's a thought - what if the state I live in, is one place where the Robins go to? Perhaps Birds, like humans, don't follow "the rules"all the time.

The Robin is a vivid bird - black feathers on his wings, and his head, and his back. His chest, and belly, is covered with beautiful orange feathers -picture a man wearing a black suit, and a BRIGHT orange vest/shirt. He is proud - he raises his chest.

That's the Robin.

Yet, I've seen Robins, with dull brown feathers, and a washed out orange chest and belly. They are like frail imitations of what I believe a Robin looks like. What is that? I think those are older Robins. However, I don't know! What I do know is that Robins are not just one shade of black, and orange - they aren't all big and proud. They don't follow the rules.

I just read in a book that Robins forage during the day (look for food), and then get together in groups at night. This passage insinuated that Robins are alone while they look for food.

My response to that is - Oh yeah?

The other day, I was walking in a park and I saw HUNDREDS of Robins flying around! They were feeding, oh yes, but they were doing it in groups. They would rise as a group, soar in the air, and land on another patch of grass. Some of them would break away but they always came back to the group.

They sing - beautifully.

Ever have a Robin try to stare you down? They do it. You just have to look at them, REALLY look. They'll spread their legs apart, cock their heads and stare HARD at you. I can almost hear them say, when they do that...

"WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT!"

It makes me laugh that. I've called them the JDs (juvenile delinquents) of the bird world, ever since - birds with an attitude.

Hmm. Makes the concept of "the bird who breaks the rules" more - real.

My sister's name is Robin. Each time I look at the American Robin (the bird) I smile, and say hello. I'm usually thinking of my sister, then.

Not that my sister "has an attitude". That's more my role.

Hmm. Maybe that's why the American Robin (the bird) makes me laugh.

I like them. I can identify.

Chapter 16

2008-02-26T07:16:00.000-08:00

I don’t know what to say about Hawks – they fill me. When I see a Hawk in flight, I am filled with awe. Sometimes I can’t breathe. They fill me with awe; they fill me fear; they fill me with sadness.

I don’t have a reason to be afraid of Hawks. They don’t go after humans, but sometimes when you watch them flying, if you REALLY watch them, you can see how carefully they are watching the landscape. They are always on the hunt – they are always looking. Don’t you, for a minute, make a wish that they don’t see you? Don’t you, for a minute, make a wish that they don’t find their prey?

Hawks are predators. They hunt; they kill. They are meat-eaters. Some humans don’t like them for that reason. I understand that feeling, but consider this – humans are predators. We eat MUCH MORE than Hawks do. Our problem is that we have cushioned ourselves, wrapped ourselves in cotton, in denial, i.e., we don’t do our hunting; someone else does it for us. When we sit down to eat our meals, to tear into that piece of beef or chicken we choose to forget that someone else killed a live animal. This creature died in order that we could eat it. We choose to forget.

Hawks are beautiful up in the sky. The patterns on their feathers would put the fashion world to shame. When sunlight caresses the back of the Hawk, his shadow glides across the earth. The sound of their wings is like a powerful flap of a large sheet, a flag in the air.

Hawks make me sad because I have never seen them in pairs. I want to see them in pairs. However, I’ve always see them alone - and they are usually being scolded by another bird – sometimes a crowd of crows, sometimes smaller birds. The Hawk seems so lonely, then. I don’t blame the “crowd”. I know why they do it. Anyone who thinks birds are smart has never watched them yell at a Hawk. They KNOW this Hawk might someday eat THEM

I once saw a wee mockingbird sitting on a telephone wire a few feet from a Hawk who was also sitting on that wire. That mockingbird was screaming his head off! I watched that and said to myself “oh careful, else you’re going to be dinner…”

That’s just it. I’ve seen Hawks, those magnificent creatures, pestered to death, and they don’t do a thing. They hunt when they are hungry. When they are not hungry, they don’t hunt.

Wouldn’t it be nice if the same could be said of humans?

Chapter 15

2008-02-25T04:39:00.000-08:00

The pigeon is the closest I’ve seen to a “group mind”, although a crowd of humans is very similar (especially when the humans are angry, ever hear of ‘mob rule’, they think with one mind). I think the pigeons survive, well, because they do think with one mind. If you’ve ever watched a group of pigeons fly, you’ll know what I mean – when they leap up into the air to fly, they ALL DO, and they swoop through the sky almost like a hook, a question mark, i.e., who’s going down [mob rule]. Once when I fed some pigeons [of course they were in a group] I noted that there were a couple of the pigeons would hang back, at the edges of the group [seagulls do this too]. When these couple of pigeons flew up into the air, the rest of the group would stop what they were doing and fly as well. Then the group would come back, as one again, and keep on accepting what I gave them. It was remarkable to witness.

Once, when I was in London, I had a one-legged pigeon perch on a fence in front of me. How do they know that I am a kind soul – they find me, these birds! They know. I nearly died, when I saw him. If I could have brought him home, I would have. He must have been desperate. I feed him. He flew up in the air to get my food. Sometimes, he was only a couple of inches from me. Once, he got off balance and landed on my hand. He got back to the rail, immediately after that… I think about that pigeon at times and my heartbreaks once more.

I have seen pigeons courting, especially when I lived in Boston. The male pigeon will stand tall, coo up a storm, and puff his chest out – the iridescent purple in his feathers (on his chest) would become so – obvious. Not to the female, though. She ducks her head down, looking for food and trying to dodge the advances of her amorous suitor.

A dear, dear, intimate friend once told me “the pigeons know.” He thought they were like judge and jury.

I like it when people put interesting thoughts in my head. Since then, when I look up to the edges of the roofs, which line Main Street, I watch the line of pigeons perched on the edges of these roofs. I watch them watching us humans walk on by. I find myself thinking, “The pigeons know.” I feel like I’m on trial then – and feel a pleasurable, eerie chill.

The pigeons do know – just watch them. They know.

Maybe some day, they’ll tell us.

Chapter 14

2008-02-24T18:10:00.001-08:00

It wasn’t until an old friend called Starlings - “disheveled professors” that I learned to love this deceptive bird. European Starlings are like the invasive plants that naturalists and environmentalists warn us to NOT encourage [live, grow, darn you…]. The Starling was brought over to the United States, and like the European Colonists, the Starlings took over this continent, crowding out quieter birds, forcing them to retreat, retreat, vanish into thin air… the Starling remains. I remember seeing the Starling, as I struggled through teenage-hood. Like many other human bird fanciers, I would groan at this dull bird taking over the feeders, the landscapes, pushing aside the prettier, smaller birds…

Yet, when the term “disheveled professor” got into my mind, in reference to the Starling, I looked at this bird with a new eye - and was surprised.

They ARE Cinderella, dressed in dull rags, with the gown for the ball underneath. They ARE the knight in shining armor, wearing a black coat, which he takes off before he fights his foe… Starlings are a dark brown, almost black with flecks of gold almost underneath these darker feathers – it is a buried treasure this gold.

However, “disheveled professors” don’t carry gold in their back pockets – think about what a disheveled professor looks like - glasses crooked, his suit jacket messed up, wrinkled, his hair sticking out in all different directions, his tie on crooked, and his shirt underneath probably in need of a wash…

Now look at Starlings when they perch on the telephone wires. They’ll stay there throughout a rainstorm. The Starling is the ONLY bird I’ve ever seen who looks VERY BAD after getting wet – like a disheveled professor!

They are very social beings, and surprisingly, their song is BEAUTIFUL.

I once watched a row of Starlings on a telephone wire, during a rainstorm. A group of them huddled together. There was one who was a sitting a part from this group. He looked much “disheveled”, and downright miserable. Then, one of the starlings from the group flew up in the air and then flew over to perch next to this lonely fellow.

It made me smile that.

Chapter 13

2008-02-24T05:30:00.000-08:00

The Cardinal, proper location, Northern, lad and lady … the Cardinal is a bird who brings up many philosophical points. How? The answer is simple, and yet complex - it is because of the way this feathered friend looks. The male is a bright, bright red. His mate is brown with shy fringes of red in her frock (and sporting bright red lipstick, i.e., her BEAK)… The scientific explanation is that the male is supposed to be a bright color and the female a duller color because the male is supposed to do battle with those who would find the nest [got to protect the family]. He is the lure. The female huddles down in the nest and waits until her knight, in shiny red armor, defeats the enemy…

Well, yeah, but… how did genetics know this? He’s red because the Cardinal bird “cells” met in the back rooms to discuss the situation? I understand the concept, but the reality is rather strange – HOW did it happen? I’ve also heard that it is genetic trial and error, that throughout the years, animals, birds, humans change, until the baby of the species is better and stronger. So when did Mother Nature become a Master Race Scientist?

Bah. The Cardinal is a symbol/memory of mine – at a crucial point in my life, I looked for a sign, a symbol for the day, I looked out the window, because I’ve always taken my cues from Nature, and the Cardinal swept across the sky, and I saw him, clearly, due to that bright red color.

Therefore, I choose him. Hey, we all have symbols that get us by, help us survive. When I look at the Male Cardinal, I think of blood, bright red blood from a cut. Is he Royalty? On the other hand, is this the crown of thorns spiking the forehead and drawing the essence of life out to play? Is the Northern Cardinal a reminder to be true to your REAL self?

I live by the rule – the Macrocosm reflects the Microcosm - we can find all our answers in Nature, if we only LOOK.

Life is a network, a patchwork, a quilt, threads intertwined, connected…. I’ve had people read my writings and respond, “Oh, isn’t that cute…”

Grrrrrrr … If we don’t take care of our environment, the stage that we act out our lives on, we humans will perish! Birds are the descendents of dinosaurs! They deserve some respect!

The easiest way to get on the wrong side of my bed is to tell me “isn’t that cute…”

Maybe I need to look for the Cardinal today, the red male Cardinal. Maybe I need to be reminded of the blood that courses through all our veins and that connects us all, men, animals, birds, the universal consciousness…

Maybe, I need to go out and play.

That’s another rule I live by - it is through playing that we find serious truths. We knew that as children. We need to reclaim that truism, as adults.

The Northern Cardinal's call [song] is sharp, sweet, and short. This bird is a poet, master of alliteration and contrast.

Chapter 12

2008-02-22T08:07:00.000-08:00

I find it odd that I am talking about chickadees, the one who wears the black cap, polite little fellow, except he/she never takes the cap off, kidding... I find it odd that I'm talking about the black-capped chickadee NOW in Chapter 12, since he/she is part of my childhood memories. Back yonder, eons ago -- whoa mate, you're not that old -- I remember sitting on the porch of my parents' home. It's winter and my mother put out the bird feeder. We sat on that porch, and watched the chickadees feed. Therefore, they are survivors, like me.

I read about chickadees where they get together with other small birds, because the chickadee will call out, HEY THERE'S FOOD, and other small foragers will come running. Those wee mates do need to stick together, because what I remember most about chickadees is their "running helter-skelter" when the larger birds, the grackles and starlings come, mostly the grackles.

The chickadees come, quietly, first, to get the food. Once the larger birds leave, later, the chickadees will come back.

One of the old concepts of what makes a human "human" is that they use tools - that idea has been blown to smithereens by the monkeys being observed using tools to get at food (a stick). The birds need to be put in that category as well, methinks, as tool-users. The chickadee will bring a see, a piece of food up to a branch, put it down, and then peck at it. That's using his beak, using the branch, and using some thought. How can that be called instinct? He/she remembers, somehow. I've seen crows use tools (pebbles).

Is it that they are more human than we thought? Alternatively, does that old concept of "what is human" need to be revised? I like the thought, myself that we humans are more like them - the animals and the birds.

I like the idea of being more like the birds. Moreover, humans, DEFINITELY, as a group, want to be birds - well, why did we persist, for so long to try to fly?

The chickadee is a nice, social, entity. I like the idea of the little guys, birds of various persuasions, "sticking together".

Chapter 11

2008-02-20T15:39:00.000-08:00

I would like to see Grackles and Seagulls go for the same pile of bread crumbs, the same bird feeder, the same discarded meal, left by irreverent man... both bird "kinds" are extremely aggressive. The Grackle will steal food. I've seen Seagulls "beat up" other birds, i.e., MINE MINE MINE... I wonder why these two birds never tangle (at least within my world...). Perhaps they know that if they do, KA-BOOM, all will cease to exist? Do true warriors respect one another i.e., if you want to stay alive you LEAVE that dude alone, he's just like you...

Grackles, at a distance are large loud black birds. I suspect people will see them up in the trees, or on the telephone poles and think "crow". Alternatively, just "black bird"... but a Grackle up close... he wears an Iridescent hood, the pillowcase mask, and it is a brilliant blue. A Grackle flew into the bush next to my window, this morning, and once more I was in awe of that color, that hood... but think on it - robbers wear masks, the Grackle is a robber. He is a thief. Maybe the thief at Mardi Gras, although I think it is the Crow who is the joker, the clown. Are Grackles smart? They know the strategy of mob rule. When they find a place to feed, it isn't just one who shows up it is a GANG who does a strafe landing... rat-tat tat, out of the way, the Grackles are coming! Hmm. Should be a City Gang wearing those colors, black and Iridescent Blue. It is the Grackle who homeowners curse. The "cute little birds" are always chased away by this big boisterous mob of black birds with their blue hoods, stick 'em up, give me all your bread, man...

Yet the Grackle mother is quiet, and patient. ... the monstrous child follows the sleek mother, whose black feathers sometimes shine in the sun, a match for that Iridescent hood... the monstrous huge child, a dull grayish brown, screaming, as the mother pecks at the in-betweens ... (what do they find between the grass blades, birds...)

What training is this? Is the mother saving up for her gregarious social gatherings with the rest of her tribe? Is she saving her voice? Alternatively, is it the child who is getting ready for the harsh scream that he will cry, as an adult, when he dive-bombs the bird feeders in our backyards - chasing the "cute little birds" away?

I like the cute little birds a lot. However, you have to respect a survivor.

Maybe it is the Squirrel that the Grackle has more in common with than the Seagull - both the Squirrel and the Grackle always "mix it up" with us Humans. They get in our faces.

They're survivors.

Chapter 10

2008-02-17T04:07:00.000-08:00

This is a magpie, obviously a baby. Are there magpies in America? I don't know; I've never seen one. I'm only aware of magpies in the UK. A baby is a baby, in any language and species, the first reaction (unless you have a heart of stone) is "oh, isn't he/she/it adorable". Funny, though, about baby birds... I've seen several bird babies with their parents - and they always, at one point in the growing - are HUGE. For instance, the grackles, and the starling, their babies are stunners! The parent is so tiny and the baby so demanding. As they grow older, the baby becomes smaller.

Does that mean we are full of ourselves, as children, i.e., it's ALL ABOUT ME, so we puff up, we fluff up, we yell for our suppers?

I think the child stays inside the adult, myself. The adult just learns how to tell the child - be quiet.

I went to a workshop on identifying footprints in the "wild" (the wild can be your backyard). I learned that this could become an obsession. Humans have an instinct for the hunt. However, with our evolving (or is it de-evolving?) away from the need of constantly foraging for our suppers, we have learned to hunt for other things. Some hunt at the Mall, others online. We thirst for information, stimuli, games, possessions.

The Magpie's like that. That bird tickles me with his/her need to collect shiny objects.

Footprints - what I learned is that in identifying, what animal, or bird has been "here" (where you're standing when you are looking for pints) that you should look at your total environment. Are there teeth marks in the branches? Is the grass chewed up? Are there bones, droppings? An owl leaves pellets, i.e., things he/she couldn’t digest, so he coughs it up. A crow is a walker - you can see that in his footprints. Birds who stay in the bushes and trees most of the time will hop when they touch the ground. You can also see that in their particular imprint.

What footprint do I leave? What will it say about me?

Chapter 9

2007-12-05T05:20:00.000-08:00

Canada Geese are called by [so many] blokes, birds,tweet, tweet, CANADIAN geese. I wonder why? It wasn't until recently that I learned to not say CANADIAN.

Don't ever treat a family of Canada Geese, with disrespect. If you come up to the goslings (baby C. geese) too quickly, the mother might attack you. I saw the mother of a brood of goslings bent down her head and raise her wings, like elbows up to the sky. Her beak was open wide and with a HISS she charged this toddler who ran to see the babies. Fortunately for that wee human his father was quicker than the mother Canada Goose. He snatched that child up before Mama defended her brood.

I saw a brood of goslings in the middle of a small country road once, the parents hissing and getting angry at anyone who decided to discuss the situation.

I once saw a Canada Goose cross a road, where the traffic speed was 50 mph. The goose was going, 1 mph. The car coming at this goose, went into the shoulder to get around this bird. The bird stood still andstarted discussing it.

What a confident bird! When they talk they HONK HONK HONK.

Flocks of Canada Geese travel overhead. They are a triumphant V in the sky, except... where they going? Why do Canada Geese live on the East Coast of the USA? Shouldn't they be in Canada?

Maybe they got lost, didn't have a map in the glove department (the V-car)... haha, joke.

One time, a pair of Canada Geese run across my roof and then leap into the air to fly. It was like bulls stamping across the ground. I live in a Mobile Home so whenever any bird or animal runs across my roof the sound is more ... obvious. Rain are bullets on this roof.

Saw a Canada Goose and a British Crow face-off over in Kensington Gardens in London. They both were standing sideways staring at each other, their legs bent. The Crow bent his head towards the Goose, the Goose responded by moving his head and body towards the Crow. The Crow then quickly and decisively moved his head and body AWAY from the Goose. Neither moved their FEET at all during this encounter. IT was a dance!

C. Goose is the only bird I've seen make a Crow - polite!

Chapter 8

2007-12-04T08:44:00.000-08:00

If I'm going to talk about the seagull, brat boy, petulant sad child of the bird world, I think I want to do it in snatches. Why? The seagulls and I go back a long long way. When I lived in a rooming room house, old shack in the city, where there was more concrete than - life - the seagulls saved me. They would fly over Boston [which has its pockets of grass but not where I lived] and I would watch them in the blue sky. I would sit on my windowsill and listen to them cry. That's when I knew the gull was unique - his cry is that of a wounded child. Are they lost souls of children, or sad adults, who never made it to the "other side" and stayed her as junk angels? A seagull in the sky, when the sunlight is out, is a bird on fire. The light makes him ... bright, like a star.

On the beach, walking across the sand, sitting on the rocks, with a meal, or a snack, seagulls will find you. It's a mob thing, a group mind, yet the individuals in that group act very very different. Some will stand in front of you and scream. Others will walk back and forth, beak bent down to the ground, and harshly complain. Others will hover in the air above you, floating, treading water/air... ever been surrounded by seagulls? It's like being enveloped in a white heaven. Makes me laugh as I throw the bread up in the air, fling the piece of meat far into the crowd, hoping to reach the shy bugger in the back of the crowd. I always look for this misfits.

Standing in a parking lot, once, I threw popcorn up in a strong wind current, fierce wind. The wind whipped the popcorn across the parking lot. The cloud of seagulls hovering over my head whipped along with that popcorn, so fast, blink of an eye. A truck was going, slow down the side of the parking lot. The popcorn blew in front of the trunk, on that passage way (a road between two lots in a BIG lot) and the birds blew right in front of the trunk - HUNDREDS OF BIRDS. The truck stopped. Had to, while that mob got there popcorn. Oh I laughed, but disappeared quick. Wouldn't have blamed that poor driver for being angry! Didn't mean for that to happen!

I saw seagulls, in London, in Kensington Gardens, who wanted to get the bread thrown into the water so bad that they would land on top of the bird who was reaching for the water, pushing said bird INTO the water, to get that bread. Hard call that - I love the seagulls, but I didn't want the other birds to get drowned!

Finding Nemo - an animated film, has the best sequence of seagulls in action I've ever seen. Made me fall to the floor laughing, it was so ACCURATE. They find food, they are THERE! All different, but each individual having his own role in the mission - get the food

Chapter 7

2007-11-30T07:19:00.000-08:00

I love words, and the way they reflect us. Humans evolve, or disintegrate in some cases [giggle] and how we speak changes along with us -- mirror mirror on the wall, let me count the ways, how do I love you. I love the word "coot", always have. In my opinion, referring to an older person as an "old coot" is a bit of a compliment. An old coot is a person with an ATTITUDE, won't take any grief from anyone -- chip on the shoulder, knock it off I double dare you, chin up in the air. I like coots, a lot. When I climb the ladder, scale the mountain and reach that age, I want to be a coot; a strong, eccentric [normal is boring!] old woman. Therefore, when I met my first Coot, as in BIRD, I was astounded, amazed. I never realized that there was a BIRD called a Coot. This was in England, at Kensington Gardens. As I witnessed the bird, the Coot, I was further delighted, because my interpretation of what a Coot as in human, is, or should be, well, THAT'S EXACTLY what the bird, Coot is - aggressive, loud and almost god-like. What did you say, you upstart did you actually call a bird, a God? Well, think of the Egyptians with their God Horus (A man with a Hawk Head), before you dish me, but hear me out, I mean it the Coot is god-like. Why? He can walk on water! Blew me way, my jaw hit the ground, metaphorically, of course of course, it's because of the Coot, the bird's feet - long claws which are like rubber rafts. Not kidding! One of the Coots at Kensington Gardens actually hopped out of the water, and walked towards me to get some breadcrumbs. His legs are long, and those feet are HUGE rafts. Fearless bird, and to watch him chase another bird across the water, not kidding, he WALKED halfway across the length of width of the stream before he decided to become "normal" and swim!

I love the COOT, for his aggression and his crazy feet.

(I discovered, the next time I saw these birds, another bird that more audacious then the Coot - the Seagull. Made the bossy Coot look like a dove, poor blighter!)

Chapter 6

2007-11-26T04:29:00.000-08:00

Now here's some symbolizing. Wonder if anyone will believe me. Doesn't matter, I know it happened -- red-winged blackbird, creative, female energy, pouring cream into a pitcher. It is the red-wing blackbird, opera singer of the bird world. This bird is a strange creature with two different types of calls, the chirp chirp call, which has a harsh edge. If you respond (I think that's the instigator) the song changes to this SOARING ACHING cry, the opera singer on her DEATHBED. That's the cry, splits my heart into took an axe to me that bird, I've run into this bird twice, I read once, advice from an intuitive bird person, i.e., birds respond to people's emotions. That makes sense to me... they have a small brain, but they have a loud voice, when they sing the sound consumes their whole being... if you watch a bird, you KNOW that's true, their bodies literally vibrate, shake, while they sing... and singing is emotional, not much thought there, but all feeling, so why not... I can dig that a bird could sense me, so I've tried it, when I see a bird, I beam at them, I create a haven of safe feelings, a warm gush, pouring cream into the pitcher love, I'm a sun, I radiate, a rainbow hangs over me... well... I TRY. Sometimes I can't shake the day to day mundane worries, and if my nerves are on edge, well trust me, the birds will RUN AWAY... so I try to stay grounded, sometimes it works, sometimes not...

With the red-wing blackbird it has REALLY worked - I’ve had red-winged blackbirds flying over my head, in a circle. Not kidding, it's happened. Once, with this one bird who would come out of his bushes, and fly around me, land on a sign and talk to me, as I beam at him... I realized, now, that he was looking for a mate, because the last time it happened, another red-winged blackbird followed after him... ah, da little woman, jealous. I never saw him after that. Made me sad. However, I had realized that connecting with a bird like that, was wonderful, but... now what? I have to leave. What does that do to the bird? That troubled me. Therefore, I'm glad he found his "woman"!

Red-Winged blackbird, opera buff, heart on the sleeve, looking to write a symphony with his ... partner.

Chapter 5

2007-11-25T08:23:00.000-08:00

The Magpie is a dark bird with a white belly. He's a beautiful fellow, and cousin to the crow. I don't know about the rest of the USA, but I've never seen a Magpie where I live, on the East Coast. Maggie, Mag, love a pie bird, I've seen him in England, and compared to the Crow, Maggie is a shy bird. The crows in England, that I saw, strut about. The Magpie hides. This is my experience. Perhaps if I got to know this bird up close there might be another story for me to tell.

The Magpie is known for stealing bright and shiny things. He/she loves to decorate the nest. This I would like to see. Maggie Pie what do you steal? Would you take a coin without swallowing it? Jewelry, yeah, I can see it, tinfoil, wire, why not... but could you steal a coin? That image stuck in my brain. I wonder. Could the bright shiny object, by accident, slide down his/her beak and be ... swallowed! Do Magpies ever fight over shiny things? Birds will try to steal each other's food, I know that, I've seen that, swallows, crows, blue jays, seagulls, if another bird has some food every other bird in the universe will want that food. Is it the same with bright shiny things? I would like to see that ... pirates at dawn dueling with beaks instead of swords for the buried treasure.

The Magpie has been in stories. I know of one an adult fairy tale (no, not "x-rated"!) called "Once..." very very good story, where the Magpie is a sinister presence! I think I remember, someone in the dusty halls of my memory where the old archives are kept in drawers that creak when you open them, watch it with that paper, it is so old it will crumble at the touch - I remember reading about Magpies as "villains" in other stories. However, I think they have been, and can be, comical friends (same goes for crows...)...

There's a commercial out, regarding doors made of glass, and a glass cleaner that is so good that you can't tell the glass is there - and how two magpies, out in the yard, coaxed the human inside to come out - and he runs smack dab into the window/door [get it? So clear, he can't tell it's there.]. The magpies laugh their heads off at their little joke.

The people in the commercial (the narrator) refer to the magpies as crows!!!
HAH! Magpies, my good friend, MAGPIES!!!! They're the crows with the white bellies.... etc.

I wonder if Crows and Blue Jays like shiny things as well. Would be interesting to compare... like to see all their nests!

Chapter 4

2007-11-23T19:49:00.000-08:00

A blue jay has a harsh voice, music which demands, pay attention, pay attention, the baby jay in the bush outside my window calling to his mother, who ignored him, hop hop a little closer, mother love, ain't it a brute... the blue jay is incredible, and I can't describe him, no words come close to this bright fellow, as cocky as a jay, strong as a peacock, it is his cry that demands, he is supposed to be the guardian the reminder to defend the castle, storm the gates, break open the case where the swords are kept the war is here, fight, the blue jay is a gorgeous bird, a cousin to the crow, and say that, I realize that his cry makes more sense, CAW CAW the crow demands and he is makes no amends for wanting you and you and me and thee to pay attention, the blue jay cuts through the air with his cry, I've had the blue jay approach me, sitting in front of my computer, and hearing his cry outside my window, and looking staring, where is he, don't move human, don't want to scare him off, the blue jay pokes his head at the edge of the window, looking in at me, I want to have a family, a herd, jay jay jay jay oh so brilliant blue, SCREECH, and the baby opens his mouth, the beaks strong, and the voice, ... demanding, that's the thing, how can anyone ignore such a cry... what's the language, what's the words, the vocabulary what does he mean, blue jay, when he talks to me, maybe I should ruminate on that, and sit in a park one day, keep an eye out for jays, want them to be more than flit flit flash and that agonizing sweet cry, if the language is limited, the emotions are not... that's a bird's language, his EMOTIONS, see if you can hear how he feels in what he says... it isn't hard, if you choice to accept your assignment, Mr. Phelps, this tape will self-destruct in ten seconds, the Jay and his remarkable beauty is a gift... enjoy...

Chapter 3

2007-11-21T18:39:00.000-08:00

now you see me now you don't peek-a-boo, walking between our feet, Stephen King had it right, the hounds of hell, the messengers of our fate aren't the dogs but the sparrows, why, dig it, when you walk down a street, at least in the town near where I live, so many people, traffic jam, elbow to elbow, eyes straight ahead, talk talk talk, the sound can be deafening, do any of them... hear? There is a background of sound, a stratosphere, inner sphere, starts at our feet, in-between the toes, in the dust mostly the dust, dig it? there are birds there, sparrows, wrens sometimes, but mostly those enduring birds, so small, and the females so... brown, that they disappear against a tan sidewalk, or in the side of a building, at the local post office, the words POST OFFICE, talk is cheap show your money where your mouth is, backup, which is mullah, eggs, nests, a veritable city of sparrows behind those words, and you can see the staggering grass, sticks, mud protruding, wonder if the postal folks just ... gave ... up... sparrows endure, and the sound of their song is ... comforting, walking down that street again though, businesses, people so involved in what they think, a house inside the mind, the door lock the shutters closed, and the ears bolted, blind and deaf, don't see the sparrows walking, and don't hear them, I look for birds, and I listen for the sounds, startled stimuli, shock to the senses, to realize the wall is SINGING, and that there are birds IN THE CRACKS, or up in the drainage pipes, I've even seen them nesting in the rubber encasement of a bundle of telephone wires, look up, at a telephone pole, at the black rubber wrapped around the wires, sometimes there will be dried grass sticking out and a bird flying in, flying out, and the chorus begins... where there is ugliness, beauty, household at one corner, has a feeder, right size for wrens and sparrows they know it, magnet, that house, sometimes when I walk by there are HUNDREDS of birds in that bush, they are THAT SMALL, it is almost like the bush vibrates....

Symbolism of the small brown birds, sparrows, wrens - the feudal class, the peasants, the workers.... the framework of society, the structure... the sparrows often live inside our walls... if they leave will the walls fall down, a society doesn't survive without ... work.

Alternatively, is it what Stephen King says - they are the guardians at the gate of death? Respect them little fellows... there are ... more of them there are of us, sometimes it seems like that...

Their voices are ... everywhere...

chapter 2

2007-11-20T19:24:00.000-08:00

Mockingbirds, song-baby, piano man, dressed white gloves grey suit jacket, mock me, mock me… imitate, harass, aggravate, strike a pose, rude boy, music vocab-ulary surpasses… they will try to imitate anything… I’ve seen a lyrebird on film, an Aussie bird, who sounds like a car. Would I kid you, not me...? The mocker is our clown, patriotic wiseguy, shrugs his shoulders and raises his tail feathers to show you his bottom. Not afraid of anything, this bird... He's a little balmy sometimes. Saw one once I'd swear got too close to a telephone wire, jazzed up…

Walked walkabout a park, long lines, distant trees, waiting for the right … colour… red, yellow, green, brown, what a show…

The bird songs intoxicated, mesmerized, frustrated ME… WHAT were those birds SAYING... humans think they can dismiss the birds, the animals, "oh they are only doing, saying..." well, think of it as a foreign language, a different culture, why don't you, you CAN'T know, I’ve watched birds interact, I listen to their sounds, anxiety, love, distress, anger, anger, mock me will you…

I saw a group of black birds, small black birds hovering over a growth of long tall brown reed grass, a pond. They hovered like smoke, and then, descended all at once -- disappeared in the long halls, target practice. Who can spook the human the most? I can mama, CAW CAW… Funny, I heard so many birds today, at the park, but saw only one crow, a large bloke way up in a tree… I got a sense that he was an old 'um, that one. Birds talk as much as humans I reckon. When I KNOW the sound, the bird, [a familiar street, lullaby, bird in the bush, up the water spout, or tree, hiding, calling, moving, and I can’t SEE HIM AT ALL] it is a sweet craziness…

I want to know what they are saying… oftentimes I will click my tongue to a bird, and get a reaction, oh well done, feathered friend.

Mock me not, mockingbird.

chapter 1

2007-11-19T18:19:00.001-08:00

I saw crows rising from a field of fallen soldiers, dead corn, stalks cut, withering, brown, becoming transparent... Something riled those crows. They rose like a bad temper fog, up towards the trees. I watched them while I walked, wondering if they would dissolve into the trees. Settle down boys! Branches bend no such serenity for these mad fellows. Some went into the branches, and then kept on moving until they rose to the top branches, king of the mountain, no queen... Then they settled down like children on a parent's stairs. The other crows went farther into the forest, jumping up into the blue sky, moving over to other trees...

Then I saw geese rising, a few minutes later, from the same field. I then wondered if it was the geese that bothered those crows. Canada geese are the only birds, except for the mockingbird, who would not be ruffled by crows...

A Blue Jay zing my path, flew across, a flash of bright blue, and disappeared into the bush. Was it a Blue Jay? I heard the sound and believed it was. Some pagans believe that this beauty, this symbol symbolizes defend thy magic. That day I acknowledged the reminder...

The day before, I walked by a gathering, crowd of Canada geese. They stood statue still, watching, watching, me. The dried grass they had been nibbling was clenched between their beaks. Is it beak, or beaks, like humans have two lips, lip, lip, beak beak...

Saw a Mockingbird, a baby ... I clicked, clicked. He turned around and looked at me, then turned around to go into the bush. Then he, shrugged his shoulders, raised his wings. I read somewhere, once, that the shrug, the mocker's shrug was ... what... be it sexual, marking the territory, or just plain uppity. I’m tough, don't mess with me...

Come on, I know the answer to that, and I haven't written a bird book! I just watch them... All of it, all all all that mockers do they do when they feel challenged, or threatened, lovely unique birds...