The Joy of Rupert’s Visits

To no one’s surprise, this year spring appeared slow in showing its face. After all, it had been an unusual time full of concerns, fears, and isolation. If nothing else, most pleaded for the cold to go away and the warmth of the sun to start bathing those yearning to be outside.

It had not taken long for those clustering indoors to feel oppressed. Because of the unknowns and other intangible threats, most people avoided enjoying life with family, friends and neighbours beyond the borders of their immediate safe haven. The wide spread health emergency, which took everyone by surprise, had reached an unbearable crescendo by the end of winter.

Finally, however, the snow started to melt away, and multitude shades of green began colouring the landscape. It was a delight for the imprisoned souls to witness, every morning, the brighter sun and the timid re-appearing of small plants that had been resting under the snow.

At first, almost everyone was apprehensive about following their natural instinct and enjoying nature trails and parks. Only those blessed with a garden did not wait any longer to sit in their backyards and soak the still elusive heat of early spring.

Thus, the patio furniture came out earlier than other years, despite the still blinking light of the transparent ice and stubborn lumps of snow remaining under the bushes where the sun could not yet reach. With the garden chairs and the cushions also came the steaming coffee. Sitting outside, sipping a hot cup of morning coffee and trying to absorb the weak rays of the early sun soon became a treat, and before long, a pleasant routine.

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It was a morning like many others. While I was sitting on the patio, drinking the first brew of the day, with dew still shining over the new leaves, a melodic sound pierced the air. It was a mix of the reverberating jingle of crystal water from a fountain and the sharp melody of a tiny gentle flute. At first, however, it was just a passing distraction.

The next days though, while almost forgotten, the sound sliced the air once again. Not once but several times, changing tone from one jingle to the next. Whatever the source, it was persistent and determined enough to command attention.

After a while, there it was again, and again. Every time, the singing was a bit sharper and a tad louder, as if demanding to be found. Finding the culprit became a challenge.

Before long, a tiny bird revealed itself, standing on one of the highest points in the middle of the garden, a steel pole on which to hang flower baskets. The bird stood there, stretching and looking as tall as a miniature bird could. At first glance, it displayed no instantly attracting features, except for its tune.

After a few minutes of standing on the pole, looking around as if trying to get familiar with its surroundings, the bird sang several more tunes –as loud as its tiny body would allow – and flew from bush to bush, ultimately disappearing from view. This time, the performance was worthy of attention,  and one wondered what the bird was, where it has come from, and, of course, triggered curiosity: was it coming back? After all, it was still early for the usual spring birds to appear, and in this particular case, the musicality of its call was infectious. Finding answers to some of those queries quickly turned into a project.

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Image from Wikipedia.org, SongSparrow-17DEC2016.jpg