i sit, therefore i am

I’m sitting on the deck, in the sun, enjoying the warmth and a gentle breeze. A mourning dove has joined me, to my surprise. He comes not too close, but still closer than I expect, perching on the railing. I watch him inflate his chest to make his mourning call. As he does, I notice he bears closer resemblance to a rock pigeon when he inflates to make his hollow, haunting, echoing sound. Then he pauses, paces up and down the rail, and repeats. In between calls, he’s sleek and more traditionally dovelike in appearance, close enough to distinguish individual feathers. I admire the irridescent patch on his shoulder, and note that it looks like the hologram on my credit cards; why that particular association comes to mind I have no idea.

A female house finch plays hide and see among the tree leaves. A bluebird lands on the deck, takes one look at me, and takes off again. A goldfinch lands on the rail and also leaves immediately. Ah, well. A pair of them continue to swoop overhead, sometimes flying far out over the wetland, until they are indistinguishable from any other dark, flying speck in the distance. Swallows dance above the water, once flying close to the house and raising my hopes they will nest under our eaves, but they are only passing through, playing tag and chasing bugs.

The red-winged blackbirds perch on the snag, calling and chipping. The grackles prefer the pinnacle of the pine tree. I hear geese in the distance, and there’s a constant cacaphony of recognized and unrecognized bird calls; if only I could bird better by ear or see the source of the sounds and learn them.

My dove has left me, but a robin perches in his place for a minute, then leaves for a nearby tree. A moment later a flutter of wings startles me, as momma or poppa returns to the nest – it’s in the rafters above our patio, which means right below where I am sitting at the moment. I pause to watch a bee, and the sun returns from behind its cloud cover. A starling buzzes by, then a pair of house finches, then a bluebird. I listen for the woodpeckers I heard last night, but without success. I hear a sparrow, a grackle, a red-wing, a distant dove, and more I cannot recognize, but none of their distinctive call.

The sun climbs higher, and the flybys become less frequent, the sounds more muted. I am about to go in when Br’er rabbit – no, rabbits, two of them – hop across the yard and leap into the tall grass. They’re well hidden in an instant, as the grasses have reached waist height. How did that happen so quickly, I wonder? And what did I have to do that was more interesting than sitting and watching the grass grow?