>Last spring I returned from a week-long vacation to find a dead blackbird in a bucket of water on the terrace. He had got in and somehow was not able to get himself out, and drowned.

For the past several months another blackbird has been a regular visitor. Maybe she was the mate of the deceased one. She sits all afternoon in the earth-filled flower pots, hides under the spruce tree when I get too close to the door, and picks at the apple cores I’ve begun to leave out for her. She does not sing. Maybe it’s the wrong season for that. In the summer a flock of them sing in the park across the street, at 4am.

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3 Responses to >Amsel

  1. Brian says:

    >Inevitably, I’m reminded of a cartoon (probably from the New Yorker, but I can’t swear to it) that a voice teacher had framed and displayed on her studio wall.It shows a bird explaining to a man, “I don’t sing because I’m happy. I’m happy because I sing.”

  2. Marcellina says:

    >That sounds too “uplifting” for the NYer. They had one though, with a sad fish in a bowl, sad bird in a cage, and a sad lonely dog : “Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, I gotta love one man til I die.”

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