For the Birds

I am easily distracted.  As a writer, this is not good.  However, since I have begun writing all night long and sleeping in the mornings, my productivity level has dramatically increased.  Until yesterday.

He’s back.

The bird.

I write near a huge glass door that leads to a balcony.  Every year, robins build about a half-dozen nests in the nooks and crannies just under the balcony’s eves.  What’s cool about this is, each spring the kids can creep out on the deck, peer between the boards and see the baby birds all fat and fuzzy, open-beaked, screaming to be fed.  Kind of like them, come to think of it.

Anyway, along with the lady birds and their babies, comes the hero.  There to serve and protect.  And every year, this guy (this is his 4th year on duty) lands on the railing and gives his reflection the stink-eye.  I can practically hear the thoughts whirring in his bird-brain.  “Who are ya, ya barmy router?  Stay away from the ladies, ya handsome devil.  No?   You dare to puff yourself at me?  I’ll just have to fight ya then!” 

I’m not sure why, but in my head he has an Irish accent.  And so, he blows up to twice his size and begins to strut.  He’s adorable.  “Yer not leavin’ then?  Okay for you, ya rounder, you!”  Then, tail slashing, my hero proceeds to fashion a pile of droppings, apply a generous coating to his feet and then fly at his enemy.  AKA:  my window.  What amazes me is that the dogs can sleep through this.  The same dogs that will claw their way through the door to attack a gust of wind.

You know that sound it makes when you drag a fork across a chalkboard?  Yeah.  And, he keeps it up until the window is so coated with dung that he can no longer see his reflection.

All very conducive to writing.  And sleeping.  The Herald is back.  Spring is here.

Carolyn

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3 Comments

Filed under Writing

3 responses to “For the Birds

  1. Irish accent?? Does Matt know about this bird?

    If you’re going to have a mid-life affair, will you please woman-up and have it with a human? I live vicariously through you, Carolyn. I can’t do it if the other man is a robin redbreast.

    Menopause has seriously hampered your inner slut.

    Just saying…

    Wendy

  2. Too interesting…er cute 🙂

    Carolyn, “This is my special other, Mr. Robin.”
    Mr Robin, “Chirp, chirp.”

  3. I stumbled onto your blog and read a few post. I like your style of writing.

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