Confused Birds

The robin sat on our back fence with a clump of dried grass in his beak. We guessed he was building a nest, but he seemed content to sit rather than work. Five minutes passed. Then ten minutes, and he still sat there. Was he lost? Did he forget the directions the little wife gave? We could almost hear him thinking….

Where did she say it was?

On a porch rafter? He looked to his right.

On the floodlight next to the gutter? Then, to his left.

In the tree behind me? He glanced over his right shoulder.

Where is that nest?

George and I empathized, reminded of our experience in a parking lot during a recent vacation. We came out of a store and couldn’t find our car.

Where is it? I wondered.

Didn’t I park in this row? No. I moved to the right.

Was it this row? Still didn’t see it.

We walked back and forth.

Our search was complicated by the fact that George couldn’t remember which car we were looking for. We had spent an entire day driving our white truck to the mountains, but now he was seeking his black sedan. It took at least five minutes to find our vehicle and I couldn’t help but note that while in the past I’ve been amused by old people wandering through parking lots in search of their cars, I was now doing the same thing. I had somehow become one of them.

When did that happen?

But back to the robin. Watching him, I understood that we’re more alike than I ever imagined. We’re not angry birds, as in the popular computer game–just very, very confused birds.

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