One Bird

I saw a western tanager today as I turned onto Greenwood Circle. He flew into the big evergreen—or maybe the old apple tree—around the corner, where the guy with the big mouth bass mail box used to live. A male bird, wearing his summer colors: bright red head, yellow breast, and black wings with two white bars. I looked him up and learned that towards autumn, he won’t appear quite so vivid, head and breast fading some, which is like what we all do with the movement of time.

One year, I remember, not long after we moved here, I saw a whole flock of tanagers in that very same part of the neighborhood, a quick blur of yellow sweeping across the street right in front of me—they were in the air, of course—and I have been watching for them ever since. So today was good. I saw only this one bird, but he was enough to make me smile and say out loud, “Oh, how beautiful. Thank you.”

My neighbors told me that while I was gone on my cruise a big wind blew the crow’s nest out of the cedar tree. Hooray, I said. Then they told me the babies didn’t survive. That did make me feel bad, but not bad enough to wish them back.

Happily, the crows have not rebuilt in the cedar, choosing instead a large ash tree in front of my neighbor’s house on the east side of my property. That is farther away, and the tree does not hang over my fence, is nowhere near my fence. But it is close enough, and they can still be heard, you know, their loud warnings.

Who invited them here anyway? I do not know if they will come back next year. I hope not. I do not know if I can hope they are far enough away from my yard so that the other birds will come back this year, if I can expect the return of the robins and quail and sparrows and finches this year, but maybe next year. Who knows? Maybe next year will bring a flock of tanagers. Yes, there is always next year.