Another Bird

My neighbour's Indonesian maid, Ani, called me from the gate. It was Sunday morning, yesterday. She was holding a bird in her hand and my dogs, especially the mongrel Gasing was becoming rapturous from instinct to devour the shivering bird. The cat had done its deed. That ginger cat I had seen, basking in the sun. Sure and silky. her eyes had flicked back and forth in the early morning sunshine, flexing her claws in readiness.

And here was her unwitting prey. What could I do but take her in, this young mynah who was injured but fierce and feisty too. Snapping her bright yellow beak at my fingers. I put her in a cage. I tried to feed her mashed papaya. I placed dry coconut husk around her, as though that would have helped at all. It was not her space. She leapt, and clawed and battled but I was afraid to let her go. I thought she might have been injured by the cat, and she would flail and fall to the ground and die.

She did die, just two hours later. Just fell over and curled up. I am not sure if it was madness at being imprisoned; or the sweep of a ginger claw. It was late when I came home, and I had no inclination to clear her feathered body in the dark. As a result, I had trouble falling asleep, worrying that, in the heat, invisible organisms would worm their way into her still perfect body. By morning, things could become ugly. I would then have to throw away the old wooden cage which looks perfect hanging in my crumbling backyard porch. Would I need to use a large grey bag. That's how bodies are disposed. I fell into a fitful sleep.

This morning, just after light, I lifted her and found no sign or smell of decay. She was soft and limp still, almost warm. I placed her in a plastic bag and prayed that her soul would soar now, unimpeded by claws and good intentions. May she fly high, fly high and free.

The first

Today would be the day. I decided this morning, when I opened my eyes and the light was still grey, the air still cool.I could hear the birds singing outside, as they do at first light, regardless whether it was limpid and weak, or whether it was bold and bright. Just like one's mind sometimes. When you decide, you stay the course.

And so this letter, one of many to follow I hope. The way we could link our lives, our thoughts, our memories together. For every reason, for whatever reason. The need to gather threads grows stronger with age, does it not. And we bundle them together sometime and hope for our own illumination even more than posterity.

Today, the bird that came to me yesterday, given by a neighbour who rescued it from the claws of a cat, fell over and died. A fledging who only knew short flights, and who opened its beak wide to be fed by its tired mother. Maybe it died from hunger, from fear, from cold from a relentless storm late last night. Who knows. It will never know of course, that its image is now locked in my memory. Its face peering at me when I tried to whistle its mother's song. The final image, for me and for him.

Who knows indeed what perspectives we possess? We all stand in our own spheres, and our paths cross and we are held by an invisible bond, of blood and of memory.