Bird

The Naming - Early 1990s

“Get out of here! Disgusting, filthy BIRD!” A red-faced human male runs at full speed, swinging a broom. Suddenly alert to the commotion of the human, a condor pauses, turns its head, and focuses its prehistoric gaze, curiously, on the man. The direct look unsettles him. The condor has been feeding at the end of his driveway for almost 20 minutes on some dead thing needing scraped up and tossed. It is vile to him, to most humans and it’s no wonder they’re nearly extinct.

Understanding how dangerous a bite or clawing from a bird that size could be, the man doesn’t want any trouble. He doesn’t want it on his property either. It disgusts him, so he continues his siege on the bird, swinging at it, carefully and repeatedly. At first the vulture’s neck turns an extreme pale version of itself out of fear. When the tip of the broom brushes the condor’s tailfeathers, the bird's feathers fluff; its neck turning a darker shade of red. Quickly turning, the carrion eater lunges at the man, misses, and spins back to keep running. It hisses and spreads its wings, trying to lift off from flat ground. A lack of elevation and wind make it difficult for such a large bird to gain the traction necessary for lift off. It trips on its own two feet, floundering.

“Get off my property!” The man cries out and swings the long broom again, continuing to chase the bird as it tries to run, stumbles, tries to run again, and repeats a series of failures: grunting, scrambling, hissing, flailing, grunting, teetering, hissing, faltering. The California condor cycles its efforts, clumsily, over and over into the road, right into a red convertible car. Thump, Thump! Then a squealing sound from the car slamming on the brakes pierces the man’s eardrums and reverberates through his body. The rear wheel drive car fishtails a little, smoke rising from its tires, but it doesn’t stop.

Feathers burst up and float, slowly, around the space where the car was and now lies a dying scavenger, hissing and wheezing and low moaning. The bird vomits, giving the sounds a slight gurgle to them as they continue; blood streaks the road as though the condor was a small rock that had just been skipped down a concrete river-no big deal. A brief shock crawls up the man’s spine; he pauses to stare at the dying creature, feathers creating a snow globe effect around it. He can tell the vulture is suffering. He can’t care less. He recovers from the surprise and huffs up a brief smirk, muttering out loud, “The trash takes itself out. Good riddance.”

An hour later…

She feels weird, like something is flowing into her, filling her. Unable to open her eyes more than a slit, the small glimpses between fluttering eyelids are soft-focused and hazy. There’s a tiny, gentle hand, spreading warmth, on her sternum. She should be afraid, but isn’t. She feels different. She feels safe. There’s a golden glow, but everything is out of focus. There’s no pain. She gives off a series of clicks, a purr of affection for whatever provides her comfort. Her eyes begin to clear and a small, female, human child’s face fills her vision, furrowed green eyes fixed with concern and tears. The human girl’s black hair is gracefully dancing around her jawline in the light breeze of the roadway. This is all that she sees, the sky a cloudless blue backdrop, her weak vision creating a slight bokeh of sorts.

A memory locks in on a man with a large broom and then unimaginable pain. She doesn’t understand what she did to make him so angry. She tried to look him in the eyes and let him know she wasn’t a threat, just hungry. She was curious about him-about humans, but that seemed to have made it worse. The suffering after the angry man is now a core, unforgettable, memory that will forever be seared into her. The remembering climbs up her neck and head, paling her skin.

A tiny cough leaves the young human girl, pulling her back to reality and she swears something is in the air after the cough. A bit of black dust, maybe? She hears the small child say in a weary and tight, high-pitched voice, “You’re okay now, little Bird. You’re okay.” The heat of her petite hand, fingers spread wide and pressing deeply, across her breastbone expands into the rest of her body. A slight pang of something stressful feeling for the coughing girl rises in her, feeling new and strange.

Bird? She recalls that word, but called out with more vitriol than she could have ever imagined. This must be what she is, what she’s called. She looks into the child’s eyes, her own wide open now and completely clear; she sees an object reflecting back at her through the eyes of the small girl. A smooth rounded honey-colored stone glows, centered within it, frozen in time, a bleeding heart flower. As the warmth becomes warmer, the glow becomes brighter, and Bird relaxes. The pulsating glow is hypnotic. She’s so tired now. So, so, tired. Bird drifts to sleep.

The Weight - Mid 1990s

Bird sees the human researcher woman called Laura, hears the sounds of the rattling cage door, smells fresh mountain air. She’s been penned up a while, though she has no real sense of time. Overhearing Laura say something about it being release day, Bird blinks. Something was fitted to her wing that she didn’t quite understand either. She hates how it feels, but understands that these humans have helped keep her alive and strengthen her, so she's indifferent. It’s just another thing to get used to. Maybe it helps in some way.

Seated in the cliffside the large pen Bird’s view is straight into the wide and cerulean-colored ocean, sometimes milky blue depending on the current. Bird watches the waves crash against the rocks, knowing that she has to make her way to her original territory, and feeling anxious but restless at the same time. She thinks about the other condors in rehab, some in worse shape than herself. She feels things more deeply, not just her own things, other creatures' things. When the feelings hit the hardest the thing in her breastbone throbs, radiating a warm honey-gold, and sometimes Bird can see soft reds in the edges of her vision. The researchers close to her never try to remove it, though they have examined it a few times.

Sitting, watching, anxious, and curious is Bird’s current state. She’s frightened to move, but knows that she must. The researchers are a safe distance away now, Laura smiling - hopeful. A cocked head to meet Laura’s eyes and a few reverent clicks in her direction are all Bird can offer to say thank you to the researcher who has been the closest to her. Bird’s neck flushes pink and then slowly pales. Creeping cautiously to the edge of the cage, neck colorless from fear, Bird inhales and takes the leap, flying for the first time since her injury.

The wind through her feathers, the sun on her back, and nothing but freedom ahead bring her back to life, yet fill her with a loneliness she has no words to describe. The quiet around her is haunting, despite the crashing of ravenous waves against rigid stone. Beauty, danger, fragility, and the sanctity of herself-of the world around her- collide with her as the tide crashes into the cliffside. She grieves the loss of her prior life and hopes there is a place for her now. Circling a few times, Bird locks her intense eyes on a carcass the researchers left her as a farewell gift near the cage.

She finds the researchers still there, watching and hopeful. A low grunt is all that Bird can give to signal to them she’s grateful, locking eyes with Laura. Laura has tears in her eyes; her hand rests over her heart. The rest of the researchers clap and cheer. She circles above them several more times before landing, clumsily, over the carcass for her meal. There are no others of her kind: no grunts, no snorts, no shuffling, no wing sounds, no clicks, no nothing - just her and the dead. Her new future. Bird sends a silent prayer into the universe to thank the carrion for its sacrifice; her neck turns a purplish color as Bird digs into her meal.

3 DAYS LATER

Diluted smells of salt air, earth, and redwood trees waft around Bird, the dry grass beneath her talons. It took her a couple of days to get her bearings before she headed, from memory, back towards her original roosting location. It’s exactly as Bird remembers. She spends some time watching her old flock from a hillside rock formation before spotting a murder of crows circling. Hungry from the journey, she doesn’t want to alarm the flock, so she sits silently waiting for them to notice the circling corvids.

It doesn’t take long before they are all soaring, following the crows, which lead them to a suffering black-tailed deer - the final stages of death wearing it down. Bird can feel her skin flush a little. The golden honey glow begins beating out of rhythm, like a broken heart. Bits of red in her peripherals pulsating too. Poor creature. She hangs back while the rest of the condors begin to kettle. It isn’t long before the deer is gone, body still warm when the flock and the crows dive in. Bird leaps in with them and widens her wings in dominance. She’s saying “I’m here. This is my carrion.”

Around her each member of the flock begins establishing dominance through a variety of behaviors. First, they inflate air sacs in their necks to appear larger and more colorful. Pecking battles begin next in a savage dance: jabbing and lunging, jabbing and lunging, jabbing and lunging. Giant wingspans spread out as each condor sizes the other up. Some higher-ranking birds chase others off; some push and shove others out of the way entirely. There are low moans, wheezing, grunts, and soft snorts. She wants to scream WAIT!, but can’t. Feeling like an outsider, alone and overwhelmed by her feelings , Bird does the only thing she knows. She invites all of the chaos and steps up to the challenge, her head and neck flushing to a brilliant orange color. She must battle her way to her one goal at the face of the carrion, so she fences and spars and shoves and dances all the way to her goal - the mouth.

At the deer's mouth Bird pauses, spreads her wings fully - head and neck flushing to a bright red, and issues her silent prayer of thanks. The flock pauses out of curiosity. Then, unsure why, she picks up several tiny, broken, twigs in her immediate circle and places them in the mouth of the deer. It deserves this last bit of nature to see it off. She issues a series of clicks and the entire flock digs in alongside the crows and what appear to be turkey vultures she didn’t notice before.

Bird’s body language droops a little in dismay. Watching the others closely: how they feed, how they act, how they react, she wonders how they feel? Do they feel? She doesn’t remember feeling before, or at least not being aware, as she currently is, of feeling before. She was pure instinct before, but still curious, and never meant any harm. She understands that she’s an outlier now. She pales and the amber color continues thrumming out of time before her, “Whrumm…whrumm…whrumm…” She feels every vibration, “Whrumm…whrumm…whrumm”.

The Witness - Mid 2000’s

Following the crows, ravens, and turkey vultures to food has become a daily habit for Bird. She’s soaring and circling with them when she notices what they are after, hearing its soul-shattering high-pitched cries before seeing it. An injured baby seal lies on a sandy beach screaming and barking in pain. Panic rises in Bird because she knows what comes next and she can’t bear it. Feeding on the already dead is one thing; this is another. The helplessness is exhausting. The loneliness of being surrounded by others who are unable to perceive, to be aware, to communicate anything is daunting.

The waves roll into shore, white caps breaking into foam then sucking back into the blue abyss. Her neck begins to flush at the thought of this sea creature’s suffering. Her chest begins to warm and thrum with that golden-red light, which draws a raven’s attention as it flies beside her. It angles its head, looking predatory, but is only curious. A reflection of the smooth amber and red dripping heart flower reveals itself to her in the crow’s eyes. It’s a part of her now, her body having healed around it, feathers framing it perfectly. It tugs at her, demanding she do something. The baby below continues barking and screeching.

She sees a human downwind of them, not far, so she soars in its direction and begins to circle around the human. Carefully, she swoops down more than normal to get its attention and back up, flying all the way back to the injured baby, circling over its head a few times, and then back to the human. Bird does this until finally the human understands, rushes to the baby seal, and calls in help. An hour later the baby is rescued. Bird perches on a nearby cliff; the thing in her chest not beating like it previously has, but solidly warm for a brief moment, then cold again. The contrast leaves her feeling more alone than ever and bleeding out such strong feelings for other creatures, flushing her skin, no matter if they are the same as her.

The Recognition - Present Day

Perched on a redwood snag in a different part of the coastal forest, Bird preens herself while she thinks and feels her way through the loneliness and emptiness. Thought is such a foreign thing to her even after all of these years. Her life, heart, and mind have been full. She has given many creatures the gift of being seen and offered them dignity in death. She has pursued and assisted in the rescue of many as well, yet, still bears the weight of isolation. As she oils and aligns her feathers her chest gives a shallow glow. Her head and neck flush with emotion.

She likes this snag and almost wouldn’t mind staying a while. In the distance she hears a familiar sound, and sees a raven circling overhead. Her head angles focusing her keen eyesight at it. An injured animal. A rabbit, maybe. The sound stops her preening mid-feather. Turning to face into the wind, Bird hops off her high-rise snag, catching a thermal pocket, and gliding into flight. Bird makes a couple of 360s around the area the raven was circling until she spots it. A small fox sits injured and crying out, but not even a couple of feet away is a young girl, nine or maybe ten years old. Bird lands on a high douglas fir branch.

Something begins to blossom inside of her, warming her chest with a familiarity she can’t quite put her finger on. The strange girl’s voice flows from her to the fox, calm and assuring. Her hair is brown and in a ponytail, but her green eyes call out to Bird, pushing and tugging at her memory. She hears the girl holler,

“Moooom!”, “Mooom!”.

In no time at all, a woman is jogging over and kneeling. Bird listens intensely to their conversation.

“What’s the matter honey?”

“It’s hurt mom”

“Okay, it’s okay.”

The mother reaches for the hand of the young lady angling her body more towards Bird. Bird wheezes, breath hitches. Her skin brightens to a deep pink color; the stone stutters out a warm, yellow, off-tempo beat. Bird’s chest warms. With the girl’s hand in hers, Bird watches the mom - her savior - move their hands towards the fox, watches the fox get a little sleepy as though it has been hypnotized. The mother’s free hand reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small stone, different from her own.

“Remember what I taught you, honey?”

The girl nods and together they place the stone in the fox’s chest - together they heal the creature, both coughing and releasing a fine black dust in the process.

What Bird witnesses next is nothing short of miraculous. Creatures come out of hiding and circle the mother-daughter duo, chittering and chattering. Bird steps off and soars to a branch above their heads. The daughter looks up upon hearing the rattling of the branch and makes intense eye contact. It feels like this foreigner is peering, chillingly, into Bird’s soul. The ethereal girl’s eyes rest on Bird’s chest and the only thing pulsating now is the bleeding red heart in the dead center. Bird can see it clearly in the girl's intense eyes.

Another condor lands on the same branch, to the right of Bird, closer than she is comfortable with. Bird side-eyes the creature - a male. It gives a low grunt, slightly extends its wings, and bows. On his way down, a piece of amber in his chest, feathers grown around it, catches her eye. In the center, a red bleeding heart, also glowing. Bird’s head snaps back to the strange young female kneeling beside her mother, whose eyes and features Bird would recognize anywhere. The woman’s eyes meet Bird’s. She glances at her daughter and then back at Bird, nods, and smiles. All of the animals surrounding the two females and the fox go silent, close in, and begin nuzzling one another, like friends - a community.

Warmth and a golden-red glow palpitate all around them, and Bird has the sudden feeling that she's home.