A few years ago I made one of many visits to my dear friend Margaret's home in Connecticut. As we spent Saturday morning enjoying breakfast, coffee, the paper, and great conversation, I was suddenly startled after hearing what seemed to be a loud "thump". Given that Margaret and her husband never even flinched, I was more than a little curious over the source of the noise.
Upon inquiry, Margaret and Co. informed me that it was, in fact, a bird. It seems that every morning, rain or shine, at around 8 am, a bird flies right into their front window.
I was fascinated.
Was the bird blinded by the morning sun? Did it confuse their large window for some place it could fly through? Was it lost? Blind? Had it skipped its serving of caffeine before the morning commute?
No answers, and I am pretty sure the bird is still at it.
Flash forward to today and it seems that the bird either made the long trip down to Jersey from Connecticut (hopefully avoiding the GW), or another bird has found itself in the same predicament.
For the last week, every morning my family has consistently listened to the tap, tap, tapping of a blue bird determined to come in through our sliding glass doors. The doors face the backyard, and, among other things, looks out to the birdhouse given by my parents as a present. The birdhouse is actually meant to attract these vibrant blue birds, and it has...only, it seems, one of the birds is looking to trade up.
To be clear, the bird does not just fly into the glass doors once a morning as Margaret's avian genius did. It actually spends a good 3-4 hours tapping the glass, flying around it, and even backing up to ram itself right into it. The result? My door is absolutely peppered with marks, I've been having Edgar Allan Poe-like nightmares of things "tap, tap, tapping at my door", and my children are endlessly amused while enjoying their breakfast.
But I can't stop wondering why he** does it. Is he blind? Stupid? Lost? Confused? Or, just really, really tenacious? I can claim every one of these on any given day, but every day?
And, of course, the English teacher in me cannot resist embracing the metaphor: the most passionate pursuit is not easily derailed by the seemingly insurrmountable. The impossible can be possible with hope and determination. And sometimes, if you bang your head against the wall enough times, you're going to make your mark.
Which leaves me with my only real question: what do I do about all the presents he's left on the stairs leading out to the backyard?
*** And by choosing the pronoun "he", I am in no way suggesting that only a man would be so misguided. Or, am I?
And a special shout out to my husband, for giving me the most awesome camera ever for my birthday. Yes, the image above is the actual culprit.