In the steep barren gray belly of the building sat the little green sun bird. All fragile and dwarfed and insecure and stirring up a discomforting alien feeling in your heart. Holding on to the rugged edge of the window sill, with its tiny legs. It's faded-yellow neck swayed as it scanned the world in its shining eyes. It looked up once, to hook its eyes with the two earnest eyes of me looking down at them from three floors above. The huge giant of the concrete building grew over and around the bird, in its deeply impersonal gray walls, and occasional blackened windows. People walked briskly below it on a tiled walkway. The sun burned down cruelly through the long vanished shade and gleamed in its little eyes.
For a moment I thought I saw an unfathomable sadness in its eyes, memories of a paradise lost, of the plight of the ostracized, and ephemeral existence.
It flew back to a skinny tree, on the single row of trees left in this concrete field, and huddled among the leaves. For only a few seconds, and it came back to the window sill, like a rallying athlete. And again its neck swayed, and its eyes flashed. The neck swayed slow, slow, slow, which never does so for a bird this small. Their world I saw was always swift, flipping turns, skipping jumps, sneaking looks and sharp twisting necks. But here indeed, I was seeing its neck sway slowly, up, down, up again and sideways, like slowed down frames of a gripping scene in a motion picture. And it's neck straightened, bent down, elongated, its beaks moved, eyes flashed; and in a split second the neck extended into a small opening under the sill and caught something from there.
A tiny leg or two flashed amidst its beaks.
It flew over to the window next to it. The faded-yellow neck swayed slowly, and an affluent sun gleamed in its bright eyes.
I smiled, and looked up. The sky was partly covered with dark clouds. Among them stood a towering precipitous peak of white cloud. It rose above the dark plateau, milky-white and blindingly bright in the sun. The wind played along its towering girth, fading slowly into the blue sky above. And on its vanishing peaks I saw someone, a kind angel, looking down, soft wings billowing on her back;
watching the world below, with deep loving eyes.
For a moment I thought I saw an unfathomable sadness in its eyes, memories of a paradise lost, of the plight of the ostracized, and ephemeral existence.
It flew back to a skinny tree, on the single row of trees left in this concrete field, and huddled among the leaves. For only a few seconds, and it came back to the window sill, like a rallying athlete. And again its neck swayed, and its eyes flashed. The neck swayed slow, slow, slow, which never does so for a bird this small. Their world I saw was always swift, flipping turns, skipping jumps, sneaking looks and sharp twisting necks. But here indeed, I was seeing its neck sway slowly, up, down, up again and sideways, like slowed down frames of a gripping scene in a motion picture. And it's neck straightened, bent down, elongated, its beaks moved, eyes flashed; and in a split second the neck extended into a small opening under the sill and caught something from there.
A tiny leg or two flashed amidst its beaks.
It flew over to the window next to it. The faded-yellow neck swayed slowly, and an affluent sun gleamed in its bright eyes.
I smiled, and looked up. The sky was partly covered with dark clouds. Among them stood a towering precipitous peak of white cloud. It rose above the dark plateau, milky-white and blindingly bright in the sun. The wind played along its towering girth, fading slowly into the blue sky above. And on its vanishing peaks I saw someone, a kind angel, looking down, soft wings billowing on her back;
watching the world below, with deep loving eyes.
