Part 5: Charlie

On a particular morning I stood

at closed door, deck-watching through

the glass, when a group of perhaps

a dozen sparrows alighted and began

taking up strewn seeds, chittering away

with their all-business attitudes firmly

in place, when another group---of similar

size---landed to join them.

Then a third. Still more dropped in afterwards.

The total mob had now transformed into

a full-blown patio wingding, a boisterous

party, a celebration of sparrowdom.

There must have been about 50 energetic

little scamps that expertly hopped and picked up

seeds, interacting with one another with cheery

neighborliness---in general making a chirpy

madhouse of the deck, which for the moment

they had to themselves.

The males, as if they were manufactured clones,

looked pretty much each the same as the others

to my casual eye, as if they'd all arrived on the planet

out of a single egg at the identical time.

The same went for females. But they came from

another egg, of course.

Then it happened!

At first I didn't see Charlie; I sensed him.

Letting my eyes focus more carefully, a specific

sparrow stood out to me in subtle ways.

He hopped a mite better than any of his cohorts.

He was a little quicker on his feet, took

broader leaps, jumped higher, was a little

more athletic in his scurries across the patio

surfaces.

I somehow knew.

Caught up in a burst of excitement, and without

first considering the consequences of my action,

I made a careless right-handed grab for

the doorknob. The abrupt movement prompted

the entire superflock to become magically

airborne as one entity.

The noise and energy created as they made

their customary escape brought to my mind

a swarm of buzzing giant bees

on takeoff.

Who I thought was Charlie blurred away

with the rest. But by moving faster than

a famished youngster tearing into late lunch,

I was quick enough to get the door tugged

open---and barely in time to holler a hurried

"Hey, Charlie!" after them.

And maybe it was my imagination, but I

thought I heard a small voice, one that

faded fast as its source distanced itself

with the flock. That sound, carried on the wings

of a confidence and exuberance unnatural

for the likes of Charlie, expressed the words

"I know. I know."

I think.

Anyway, since then I've not worried overmuch

about Charlie. But I do wonder about him

sometimes---and wish him well.

As anyone with a heart ought to expect of me.

(end)