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What Is It My Little Chickadee? |
It is a cool Fall day. I am putting a shine on my windows. I see a dark darting and then BOP next to me. There, at my feet, a crumpled chickadee lies, neck twisted, beak open, toes curled, motionless. My heart sank. Are my window efforts worth this tiny life. This joyful, brave and curious bird endures the cold Michigan winters, visits the feeder, flutters near me.
Scooped into my palm, the body still warm, I kiss the black cap and am so sorry for the mirror windows. I say, "Shake it off my little chickadee." The bird is still except a tiny vibration under the chest feathers. I lie the body down on the deck and continue cleaning.
At the table inside, I am not so happy with the sparkle. Out the window expecting a corpse, I see a chickadee standing, appearing to be disoriented. Getting bearings my little chickadee took flight and so did my spirits.
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