Here comes the birds again. Their hurried wings rustling across the tambis and chico leaves in our frontyard and that euphonic chirping are one of the most look-forward to moments in the morning. Whether it is a rainy or sunny weather, it doesn’t matter. Their loyalty lies in these trees even with strongest of tempests we had experienced.
One thing peculiar, though, is I never got to actually see them. I just hear their sound from a distance. But not this morning. When I went out and resisted the temptation to be glued on a seat again and checked people on facebook, there was this pair of tamsi birds hopping in our tambis tree. Their brown, evenly-patterned wings glistened in the sunlight. They hop from one branch to another, sometimes their beaks touching each other.
I would have like to think that this pair have survived the storm. It could be that they need to look for food for the young. They could be two aimless adventurers hoping from one tree to the next. They hover from roof to roof, their senses always ablaze with food cooking and never-ending sights of tiny figures moving, their wings touching the plethora of pollens along their way.
This thought appealed to me. If I were a bird then, which I really wish I am, I want to be as ordinary as the tamsi, nothing fancy on my wings, no large beaks to catch the onlookers’ attention. I want to mimic the brownness of the trees and suddenly target my beak to a helpless prey. I want to fly with the wind and smell a neighbor’s cooking. I want to tease, in a split second, a dog who has once plotted to make me his breakfast. I want to be with the kingfishers and listen to their adventures. I want it all.
More and more birds gather around our tambis tree as I stayed on and their merry noises celebrating the sunshine has become fuller. This time, I had to take off my wings, transform my fragile legs into my old slippered pair and avert my attention to our house’ direction. There you could see loads of papers waiting to be checked and breakfast waiting.