It happened soon after Christmas, after the start of the new year. I know, that's no way to start a 'cuff since it isn't going to be a mystery. It was midday and I was all leaned back in a recliner watching the Weather Channel. That probably doesn't surprise you since half the stuff I write is weather-bound. Anyway, to make it short, believe it or not, the thump was hard and heavy.
It wasn't a simple drop like when I dropped a cup in the kitchen. And it wasn't like the late afternoon when we felt that earthquake that centered west of Centerton. ... when was that? Ages ago! Yep, I looked it up; it was either on April 29, 2010, or on May 20, that year when another quake was centered east of Centerton according to a map from the Arkansas Geological Survey. There were six other rattles in Benton County that year.
But back to the thud. Where or when had I heard such a thud before? The memory worked. It was when a bird flew into and hit hard the glass in the patio door. It doesn't happen often but, this time, a look through the glass showed a female red cardinal bird on the floor of the deck. After watching a few minutes, I went outside and tenderly touched the still form. No movement. I waited a while and realized she had probably just visited the feeder in the yard and, for some reason, headed toward her reflection in the glass. The feeder was visited by dozens of species of birds several times a day; many of them were cardinals, some bright red males, and just as many soft brownish-red females.
I enjoy watching the birds gobble the seeds. Often there would be dozens of birds coming and going to and from the trees, and then they flew away. Several days later, what really caught my attention was a lone male cardinal that seemed to just sit there looking like he was waiting for someone. Could it be his mate, the female bird that was usually there with the rest of the birds?
That went on for weeks, in fact, for almost two months. I would glance out and there he was, alone, not eating, just waiting and watching ... until just two weeks ago when I was sitting in that recliner, you know, the kind that fits just right. You guessed it. A heavy thud echoed through the room. If I had fallen asleep as too often happens when I open a book, I might have missed the rest of this story, but a look out the glass door revealed another bird. Yes, it was another bird, another cardinal, bright red. He was fluttering feebly under a chair on the deck. The brilliant redness of his feathers showed damage. As I watched, the fluttering slowed.
I had read the best thing to do in such a situation is nothing, at least for a while. Time passed and movement was not noticeable so I went out and put my hand on the still form. It was still. That brilliant red bird would never fly again. Much later, the next day, I gave the bird its last rites just as I had the first bird. But that is not the rest of the story.
Two days later as I glanced out at the feeder, there were two birds, not feeding. They were just sitting at the feeder, vacant from the dozens who feed there every day. There, at the opposite ends of the three-foot-long feeder, sat two cardinals, one a brownish red, the other a brilliant red. I watched for several minutes and there was no movement until both seemed to shake their heads at the same time. The brownish bird flew first into a nearby tree; moments later the red bird took wing to the same tree. Moments later, they both flew away in the same direction.
End of story? Not quite. I watched this same scene every day for almost a week as two birds each sat, both patiently -- yes, and possibly just hopeful that one bird would make the first move toward the other. It didn't happen. They flew in different directions.
As this is being written last Wednesday, neither bird has returned. In fact, the only birds which have been visiting the feeder are mid-size blackbirds (not starlings) and red-wing blackbirds. Were those two birds the two who had lost their mates or ... ?
Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could examine or understand the brains of birds of any color or, yes, of any of the creatures which cross our paths, from a tiny fieldmouse or a 'possum (with or without the O') or even your pet dog or cat or your horse or even that sweet old cow, the one which loves you like a real member of the family? Yes, isn't she? Ah! But whether you get down to the bottom of the barrel or up the tallest pine tree, isn't it just about as hard to understand human brains? Even our own, sometimes? From boundless love to jumbled, snarled knots of hate? Haven't the brains of everyone been jumbled at times as a result of this coronavirus which continues to upset the proverbial apple cart? How's that for an old-time saying?
The news is full of stories of people who go off the deep end and commit unbelievable actions and sometimes terrible crimes. Now patience has become a hidden word, along with smiles and kindness ... giving way to ... Well, you know what I'm trying to say.
There is an answer and, to me, there are very few who do not know what it is, at least to some degree. Could it be the brain, because of the uncertainty of today, becomes infected with too much "Meeoozism" which leads the individual into becoming a "Meeoozist"? It is then the love that is meant to guide lives is hidden in the darkness.
Even a "Good Morning" hidden behind a mask but with a smile that can't be seen will open a door to patience, warmth and ... you know the rest. Spring has arrived and isn't that a perfect reason to smile? Till next time! Highway 59? Hang on to your quarters.
Dodie Evans is the former owner and long-time editor of the Gravette News Herald. Opinions expressed are those of the author.