The Sizzling Siren

Down deep in the South spring explodes out of the wild - a climax, a finishing blow to winter. At last, we are triumphant say the squirrels and the bugs and the baby birds chattering above.

A fat robin hopped forward two little hops for each step I took last weekend as I pushed forth mowing the lawn. When a stray insect flew out from the thicket, popping off in a little arc as the mower approached, the robin darted in to snatch it. When I lugged the mower around back, he flew away. Later, after ten minutes of trimming, he swooped back in and rejoined me. It made me smile to have him back. I hope he returns.

Out back, city pigeons have come around to peck at the grass along with blue jays and cardinals. Lizards scurry up and down hanging plants. Finches steal thistle from my welcome mat, scrambling off in a frenzy when I open the door.

I was driving down into the hilly country toward my parents and fried okra today when I passed a tiny mockingbird sitting on the edge of the road. It didn't fly away, so I was moved to turn the car around and investigate. I pulled to the edge of the road, left the car door open, and scooped the little guy up. He tried to escape into the weeds, but I was able to get underneath him with my palm and put a thumb on his back. He relented once I had him cradled. Above, two mockingbirds complained.

It's always odd when you hear their natural voices, so shrill and pointed.

I walked back to the car and took a photo, then, defeated, I put him in the thick weeds along the side of the road. After all, what was I to do? He couldn't be put back in the nest, and the parents couldn't take him. I considered raising it. I've raised lovebirds and parrots, cockatiels and macaws.

The resolute clasp of reason pulled me back. What if I had taken another route? I wouldn't have even seen this tiny bird's dilemma. What if I were to walk deep into the woods? Pick any direction. I would see a fountain of tragedies in every shadow if I looked closely.

Still, moving over the asphalt again, I felt enough guilt to sear the memory into me forever.

My mother had pan-fried chicken, green beans with hamhock, corn, chicken crescent roll ups (my favorite since childhood) waiting. The okra sizzling in the kitchen welcomed me home. I curtsied in my mind.

I told them about the mocking bird. Dad told me when he used to find baby birds in his youth he would throw them up into the nest. If they flew, they were ready to go. If not, the parents sometimes took them back. My mom said the parents had likely pushed the baby out of the nest on purpose. I told her about the shrieking, and she said they would do that even if they had intended to evict the baby. There it was, the yin and yang of my childhood.

We ate. We talked. We drank coffee. We hugged. I drove home, spring unfolding around me.