I haven’t written here for a while.
Blogs are “passé” now, right? (looks up “passé” on dictionary dot com. Reads. Feels satisfied) People have Tumblrs and Instagrams and Snapchats, not blogs. Well, I’ve had this blog since 2002 when I was young and pretty and troubled and sad and I am still having this blog now that I’m old and not so pretty and troubled and sad.
This blog is one of my closest friends.
This blog made me a writer.
I love this blog.
Thank you blog. You may be passé but you’ll always be my bloggiest blog to have ever blogged.
Today and every day for the last year I’ve had lots of things on my mind. So many things it’s a wonder I have enough mind for them to all be on. I imagine my mind a child’s crayoned island. One green half-dome with a lone palm tree and scalloped, pointed blue waves curve-spiking out to either end of the paper. On top of that island, catacombs of things, piled and clustered, rising up and beyond the lip of the paper, Tower of Babel style, toward the heavens. That poor island! Hang in there island! (mind)
Today I won’t talk to you about those many things. Instead I want to talk to you about birds.
I have a corner office at work. This isn’t a brag. I share the office with two other people. My office has a spectacular view of Los Angeles. I can see for miles. It’s a birds-eye view. When storms have come I can see lightning stretch from sky to treetop. I can see all the planes and blimps and helicopters. It’s an amazing desk to sit at and I’m so lucky.
Now that we have established that I sit at a desk that looks out of a window at an amazing view, I will further explain that there is a patio outside of my window. When you sit on the patio, you also have this amazing view. I can watch people having lunch outside every day. Chew. Chew. Chew.
There is a metal “overhang” outside of my window and for the past month a pair of Finches have set up a little nest in the little “nook” where some beams meet. The nest eventually grew eggs which grew into baby Finches. The parents fly in and out all day long. In the quiet morning before my office mates arrive I would hear their “peep peep peeps” and it was lovely.
It was right outside my window. All day. Three feet from my eyes.
My office mates and I would remark on the nest and the babies and the parents from time to time, especially last week when the babies were now louder and sticking their little heads out from out of the nest. Cute cute baby birds! Nature!
But, on Wednesday.
Wednesday we were in our office and it was morning and a crow came.
There are a pair of crows that frequent our patio. They fly down and sit on the railings. They are huge and scary. One of them walks on the railing to a place where he can see his reflection in the window and then repeatedly attacks his reflection, bashing himself against the window over and over again. It makes a huge racket and everyone always stops to watch because OMG A CROW IS BASHING HIMSELF REPEATEDLY AGAINST THE WINDOW OF OUR OFFICES!
The crow came. And, as we often do, we remarked about it. He is magnificent in his scariness. He is sort of like Beyonce in that, you HAVE to look at him. His presence commands it. He is tremendous.
As we were watching, he flies down below the nest. He is on the ground right outside my window. I stand up.
We all stand up.
We all get a dreadful feeling right then. We say later we didn’t know what was going to happen but we all knew what was going to happen. We will say later we didn’t know crows eat small birds, but we all knew somewhere, deep down, that they eat small birds.
AS WE WATCH he flies up to the rafters and pecks through the metal into the nest. He gets one of the baby birds in his beak and takes him down to the patio floor. The other baby bird falls out of the nest. In fright? Suicide? I don’t know, but he falls.
We scream. We are horrified. It happened so fast.
The crow pecks at the little brown-gray ball of fluff as we are horrified. Then it hops over to the fallen baby bird and picks it up in his beak, hops back to the ‘pecked’ baby bird, picks it up in his beak and flies off with both of them in his glossy, black beak.
It was horrible.
It was funny too because “nature”. Nature is rough and messed up and not gentle. Like Honeybadger, Nature don’t give a fuck. We just witnessed the no fucks right outside our office window. Three feet away.
But it bothered us all day. We couldn’t stop talking about it.
Then the parents came back.
We Googled “Do birds grieve?”
We Googled “What do crows eat?”
We learned a lot about birds that day.
Do I tell you that the crow came back an hour later and HE SWOOPED IN AND ATE AN ADULT FINCH WHILE I WAS WATCHING?!?!?! OMG it happened and he did. Swooped in, got him in his beak and flew off!! It was insane!
We screamed some more.
We called it “Birder” (rhymes with “murder”)
We’d never seen such things. Let alone within hours on the same day.
It was upsetting. But cool as fuck. I’m not gonna lie. It was nuts.
It bothered us all week. All week I was nervous for the little Finches. “It’s not safe here!” I would say to the glass whenever the little guys came around. But they can’t hear me and they don’t know my language so it was for naught.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this or why I chose this to blog about after all of these weeks. I guess it really bothered me. If I’m still carrying it and taking this Sunday morning to write it down, it must be still bothering me. Or, maybe it was the feeling of being privy to something special. Of nature at its purest or something. Like that moment in Stand By Me when Gordie LaChance is sitting alone on the railroad tracks in the still of morning and the deer comes out of the brush and they look at each other for a quiet moment and then it runs away and Gordie decides not to tell the other boys because he felt it was just a special moment between him and that deer and telling them would ruin it or something.
I love that scene. How sometimes tremendous, important, special things happen to us AND YOU WANT TO TELL EVERYONE BECAUSE OMG DID YOU SEE DO YOU KNOW WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!?!!? But then, you don’t. And somehow, keeping that amazing thing sacred makes it even more so. And carrying THAT around is and always will be forever yours. Unspoiled and secret. And maybe that is more important that telling.
I dunno. But, watch out for crows, man…