birds.

I think birds are creepy. My mother-in-law adores them. She pores over hand-me-down bird watching handbooks with binoculars in hand and she'll sit for a long time on her front porch watching the way the blue jays swoop across the lawn, discussing her recent attempts to evict the wrenns from the bird house to make room for the jays. Though I have tried to see things her way, I cannot.

A few weeks ago this very sinister black bird, not a blackbird, but a bird that was black, wouldn't move from the brick edge of my porch. I "shooed" it, swatted at it, jumped around in front of it, shouted...nothing. That thing wouldn't budge. Kind of started to make me nervous, sitting so close. A friend who was over shoved it off the ledge with a broom, and it finally swooped over to the neighbor's yard. But then it started to walk back toward us. Like I said: Creepy. After a few bird steps, it jumped up and flew right over our heads through the porch pitch. We ran inside, screaming! Imagine being kicked off your own porch by a bird.

Two weeks after that I walked down the path at six in the morning to head out for a run. Sitting on the step by the street was another one, a teenager bird, not fully matured, still fuzzy around its head and neck, making this awful squawking sound. It rotated its little head up around in a distorted, disjointed way. I almost stepped on it, accidentally, but kind of hopped over it at the last second. For a moment I felt guilty, obligated. To help? Pick it up? No. I left. When I came back, it was gone but it bothered me at work all morning. When I got home a little after one o'clock it was gone. Relieved, I went to walk inside. A few minutes later when I walked outside to water the herb garden on the side of the house there it was again, marching down the walk. I ran inside. Again, chased away by a bird. On the phone I tried to explain to Mark my vexation, but he laughed. "It's a bird, Ginny."

It's been a few weeks. Just two days ago I returned home in the evening to that same bird, the one I'd almost stepped on/ran away from. It was sitting on the little porch table, now covered in purple bird droppings. Fabulous. It stared me down as I walked up the steps to the porch and the anxiety welled up in my stomach. I tried to stand my ground, almost approached it to swat it away but again, I bolted inside. By this time I was quite put out. I am queen of this castle! And you, little black bird, are merely a peon. And yet, I run from you every time I see you. Mark was forced to go outside and shoo it away. It moved for him. Maybe it can sense fear. Mark was laughing the whole time.

I've seen this bird several times since. Maybe once every other day. I'm pretty sure it's nesting somewhere in our gargantuan front yard pine tree. I'm pretty sure it's realized its power over me. The other day it sat on the outside ledge of the window where I look out from my writing desk chair. Taunting me, flicking its head in laughter. I'm going to have to learn to live with this bird, I guess.