This morning I slept through my alarm and awoke to a world washed in gray and rain. Suddenly I heard my roommate exclaiming about something or other in the living room, and when I went to see what all the fuss was about I saw a swarm of literally HUNDREDS of birds outside. Sparrows, crows, brown birds--had taken over our street! Out the front room windows we saw the entire lawn packed with feathered bodies. The power-lines, trees, rooftops, and cars up and down the street were covered and as we watched they would land, pick at the ground and then suddenly take to the air all at once. We sat and watched them for about ten minutes and felt like we were in a scene from "The Birds," me trying to snap pictures the whole time as they wheeled and spun in the sky.
Then as quickly as they'd come, they were gone.
I have no idea what this means. My roommate hypothesized that the rain had brought out all the bugs and the birds had come to feast. My boyfriend cautioned that when animals go crazy it is sometimes a bad omen of weather to come. A less plausible but amusing explanation was offered by a friend at school: the birds had been infected by zombies and were gathering to rid the street of humans. Whatever the reason, we were lucky enough to be audience to a strange phenomenon of nature.
When I was a kid I used to wish I could be a bird. I felt like my namesake should be a part of my physical being--that maybe inside of the Robyn there was a robin bird waiting to burst forth and take wing. Then as I got older I realized that birds were limited. They can see more of the world than I could dream, mate and raise families in a tenth of the time that humans can, and they are blessed with a sense of grace that I envy, especially when I trip over my own feet looking up at them. But their lives are frantic. They are controlled by the natural instincts to find food and shelter, instincts to breed, instincts to nest and those less understood instincts to migrate and take to the sky in coordinated patterns. There is no time for self-fulfillment. No time to appreciate the view from which they soar. No time for redemption if they make mistakes. They either live and live well, or make one mistake and die alone somewhere, their beauty in life overshadowed by the grotesque figure of death that children poke sticks at.
But then again, I wonder if a bird doesn't look down at the human race scurrying through our streets and wonder if we're the frantic ones and they are the ones with purpose. Birds might even be able to love, for all I know. There are several species that mate for life, including swans, barn owls, condors, eagles, vultures, red-tailed hawks, pigeons, and cranes. This doesn't mean that they raise children exclusively with one another in all cases, but when it comes to the important things--returning year after year to the same nest, protecting one another--these birds show a kind of loyalty that society could learn from.
I was thinking about this tonight...thinking of my boyfriend and what it means to "mate for life"...to share a life together. What a terrifying and beautiful thing, this being in love. And how much easier it would seem to be a swan and never need to question my relationship or feel so homesick that I end up writing nonsense at three in the morning. How wonderful to be a swallow and never have to worry about money or grades or waking up on time. Sometimes, I think, being limited wouldn't be so bad. At least there are less chances of being hurt.
I know I can't leave this post there. I know that messing up and being hurt is the vital part of human existence that sets us apart from the birds and beasts; makes us grow and ebb like the tide. By day I will face up to the trials and deadlines of the world, but tonight, I think I'll dream I have wings instead.
