An Unlikely Friend
For the past year or so, a sweet little bird has been visiting my office. Now, I’m not one to get excited about birds. In fact, if they all disappeared one morning, I might notice that it’s considerably quieter than usual, but otherwise I would carry on with my day. It baffles me that there are people in this world who spend hours of their time examining the different species of birds and their unique coloring and behaviors. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve got nothing against birds, except that Hitchcock’s portrayal of psychotic feathered monsters didn’t do much to spark a love for them. To each his own, as they say.
For reasons I’ve clearly explained, I couldn’t hazard a guess as to what kind of bird has been visiting me. To avoid having to constantly refer to it as “the little bird,” I came up with the brilliantly creative name of Robin. So, Robin has been coming to see me at least twice a week regularly for about a year, even in the winter. My office is on the second floor of a tree-lined Victorian house, which I suppose might be an appealing area for me if I were a bird. When Robin first started coming, I was not terribly happy about it. The last thing I needed during my work day was to have an uninvited, chirping, wing-flapping creature making herself at home outside my window. Interestingly, she seemed to sense my lack of excitement at her presence. If it’s possible for a bird to look shy and unassuming, Robin fit the description perfectly.
When it became obvious that Robin was planning to make a habit out of visiting me, I decided to examine her a bit more closely. She was a beautiful little thing, that’s for sure, although it looked as though she had recently lost a few feathers. There’s no telling what toils and terror such a delicate creature could endure, and it appeared Robin had seen her share. The fact that she continued to visit me through the harsh winter told me a lot about her strength. I suppose even a cold and relentless wind pales in comparison to the trials she has faced. She also proved to be quite punctual and reliable – I could count on her presence more than some of my colleagues.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I found myself looking forward to Robin’s visits. When she sat on my windowsill, she looked right at me and told me all about her life. And, although I fear I might be writing my own admission ticket to the nearest psych ward by admitting this, I found myself talking to her about my life too. We might speak completely different languages, but we seemed to understand each other perfectly. (I suppose if we can grow close to dogs and cats, we can do it with birds). I had grown quite fond of Robin, and I think she also took a liking to me. Never in all my days did I think I would befriend a bird, but I guess it goes to show you that you never know what little gifts God will put in your path.
Today is Friday, a wet and dreary day with the markings of early spring. It occurred to me in the midst of answering phone calls and emails that my window sill is empty. Except for the typing of my computer keys and the steady ticking of my clock, my office is eerily quiet. I always knew that eventually, Robin would stop coming to see me. I knew that we were unlikely friends at an unlikely place and time. Even knowing those things, I am sad and I miss her. Just as we are entering the season made for birds, she is gone. I suppose that one day, she might stop by just to check in and say hi, but she has her own life and I have mine. It’s the way of the world.
And so, my little Robin, wherever you may be, I thank you for coming to visit me. No other feathered friend will compare to you, but one thing is for sure: I’ll never think of birds the same way again.
