Till The Birdies Come

I was enjoying an afternoon meditation yesterday in my bedroom. When it was done, I rang the singing bowl three times, as is the custom of many people before me. I sat happy. As I gazed out at the snow-filled field, I saw my young locust tree – 12-feet tall and branches bare. I knew that just to the right of my view were two feeders – for nyjer seed and sunflower seed enthusiasts. It was winter, it was cold and the birds were hungry. I’ve seen as many as twenty sparrow-like birdies on the feeders and underneath them on the snow. At the moment, none were in view. It was 3:43 pm.

A plan hatched itself, accompanied by my fluid brain. “I’m going to sit here until the birdies come, until at least one of them claims a perch on the locust.” There was a twinge of discomfort, and I could feel my thoughts starting to churn. “What if nobody comes? Are you going to sit here all night?” And up came the whole deal about giving my word.

I did a brief cost-benefit analysis of promising to stay in the chair until there was a bird. The chances were really good, I felt, that a feathered one would show itself within ten minutes. I was getting a bit hungry but I could shove that down for awhile. “I can do this!” And then I agreed to do so.

3:53

No one.

As the minutes unfurled, I looked out my window at the world. The branches were quivering and fluffs of snow danced across the land. There were breaks in the flurries of white and I was always glad when they’d begin again. Way over there on Harrietsville Drive, cars and trucks went their way across my field of vision. It reminded me of my childhood vacations on grandpa’s farm near Lindsay, Ontario, and the steam engine miles away pulling its cars every evening at the same time. I loved the white billows seeking the sky.

4:16

“Where have all the birdies gone? They need to eat before sleeping, don’t they?” Perhaps not.

The tall trees across the field by the creek just stood there looking back at me. Through the branches of one, I saw a distant red barn. I wondered if that farmstead was full of sparrows. “When you’re done there, come over here, please.” But all remained still for the time being. My stomach let its presence be known and my bladder chimed in with its own message.

4:48

Still alone. I noticed the power pole on Harrietsville. I’ve walked there, standing beside that pole and gazing back at my home. Now I could almost see the tiny Bruce figure on the road.

“This is really strange. Why did I give my word? I want to eat.” And still I sat, feeling something far larger than my stomach. This was a quest.

Suddenly, large birds flew across the horizontal pane at the top of my window. They were flying away from me. Were they seagulls? Whatever they were, I knew that even if I could coax them my way, they’d be too heavy to rest on the branches of my locust tree.