A HOODED WARBLER PERCHED ON the windowsill and gazed into George’s backyard. The rain came down in heavy veils and the wind acted as a fresh razor blade against the leaves in the trees. The awning above the window offered a small respite for the fragile bird. His feathers, worn and splintered, his paltry onyx eyes focused with intent. The modest creature stood facing the storm just as a human being would in deep reflection.
George watched the tiny creature from behind the safety of the windowpane and carefully wiped a thin layer of dust from the window with the sleeve of his sweatshirt to get a clear look at the bird. The brilliant lemon colours on the bird’s body burned like a miniscule sun in contrast to the muddled sky. The rest of the world seemed to have been fleeced of all colour and existed in an angry state of muted wind and rain.
The bright little creature spread his wings to full extension. He was embracing the storm, challenging its fury and mocking its power. Fearless and ready, the bird left his perch and took flight into the magnificent downpour. George watched as he fought valiantly, then frantically against the ferocious winds. The rain was like a thousand copper pellets against his hollow bones that left him battered against George’s backyard fence. He dropped without grace onto the damp earth, succumbing unwillingly to his fate.
George turned and left the kitchen window and made his way to the living room. He plunked back down into his easy chair recliner with a cheese sandwich, which was the reason for his foray into the kitchen some ten minutes earlier. He took the remote control from the seat of his chair and pressed the rewind button. He had missed the important parts during that brief interruption in the backyard.