The Birds and The Trees


The little Grackle hears his flock every morning as the sun rises up into its perch high in the sky. When he was younger he would join the others cawing and whistling with them. He was a little different now however. He would much rather stop and watch the wheat stalks sway in the meadow, than participate in the cacophony of chatter amongst the restless feathered masses. This was his normal way of thinking of things.
When the morning breaks, the squawking arises with it. This morning little Grackle was greeted with a great longing to move, to stretch his wings, and even to squawk with the rest. He had a touch of Spring fever, but he did not yet know it. He hopped on his foot and cawed softly. Spring had landed upon the grounds of the meadow. Little Grackle felt the pulsating ping energy through his veins. He raised his head up towards the sky and blinked his yellow eyes upon the gleaming sun. His black coat glittered a fusion of different colors as grackles’ coats often do in the sunlight.
Little Grackle watched the flock of black shapes as they speckled the trees and jumped every which way. Some of the black beaked shapes stood out more than others. Their pointed beaks stretched wide as sound rose from their puffed chests and their razor talons tucked into the braches where they stood. They were unmistakably the leaders. They were the direction little Grackle went. They were the eye in the sky. Most of them were fierce and imposing with sharp beaks. Often these beaks released loud orders to the rest of the flock and to him. Little Grackle didn’t want to dislike them for pecking at him and sending him away. But he did sometimes. Their large stature often required little Grackle to look up to them to see their faces, so in turn he must look up to them as leaders. Bigger birds usually had more freedom. From his hideaway, which he preferred to call it, the sounds were muted and muffled by the surrounding brush. Safely resting here, little Grackle had space to listen to other things like the repetitive beating of his chest and the crushing of loose leaves shifting his under feathers. It was quite cozy here….well it was until his new shiny treasure wound up consuming half of his space.
He had found the treasure in the meadow, piercing the ground with its jagged edge, illuminating light. He brought it back to the hideaway for no other reason than to quench his loneliness with something beautiful. It was difficult to accommodate this new presence, but he could not bring himself to part with it and its potential.
In the shade of the trees where the sunlight wasn’t directed on the treasure, he found it did not show its light to him again. He waited patiently for it to glow, but it never did. He thought it was merely shy. Maybe someday it would show its light to him once more. Till then, it sat in the hideaway nestled up tightly with him. Little Grackle rocked himself back and forth to come to a standing position. He locked his eyes on the trees filled with chatter. Movement was occurring. Most of the black shapes rose into the air as one swarm. His feet shivered in excitement. His muscles bunched as he prepared to pounce into flight. All at once, he fell back into the sky, opening his wings and riding the airwaves. His lungs filed with crisp air. His outstretched feathers easily touched the sky. Beneath him, the meadow shown its golden glow as it receded further into the distance.
Little Grackle slowed his feathered wings to glide into place between two young males. The males flying beside him were similar to him in age, but bigger and stockier. He had made it just in time. As the flock scaled greater heights together, he loved flying with them. But even so, he enjoyed his time alone, watching the fluffy clouds change shapes above him and gazing at the meadow’s streaming strands of wheat swaying back and forth. Little Grackle loved his time observing and thinking about things more than spending time with the flock. In mid-flap he noted that they were descending to the ground. As he landed behind them, all the gathering flock pranced around the ground. This was highly irregular. Usually around this time, the flock would split into two groups, some staying at the meadow, others foraging elsewhere for food. Little Grackle usually picked a group and headed elsewhere. He loved the sense of adventure it gave him. But now, strangely, the flocking members were not gathering into groups. They were all spread out. Some of the larger males were venturing towards the females and prancing and dancing about.
A feeling came over Little Grackle. He didn’t understand why, but he felt like moving and prancing too. Some of the other males were demonstrating another peculiar behavior. Hopping closer, he saw one of the leaders spreading his wings out wide. He cawed shrilly and paraded around a nearby female. She seemed coyly happy. He fluttered around her parading his feathers and soon after they where flying together side by side. Other males were fighting vigorously. The female was standing by watching them without much care as to outcome. There was something going on here, whatever it was, everything felt different. Little Grackle watched them intently. His body started to bob up and down but something wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t move side to side like the others could. He hopped up and down ruffling his feathers, but still something was amiss. He felt rather unbalanced, not supported on one side. He stopped his moving. The females paid no mind to him. They continued focusing on the boldly performing males.
But after Little Grackle finished his wobbly prance, he looked over and saw the other males still dancing around the females. He noticed that sometimes the females joined them and decided to give it a another try in hopes that they would fall in step with him.
“Excuse me,” he whistled lightly towards the female who was attracting all the attention of so many of the other male birds.
“Could I have this dance?”
The female cackled, thinking surely he was jesting.
“But you don’t have a leg to stand on,” she said, causing a ripple of cackles amongst the flock.
“Well of course I do,” he said, almost flattered, because for the moment, he had her undivided attention.
“No,” she clarified. “You really don’t have a leg stand on.”
He looked down puzzled noticing that he indeed had one leg and he was indeed standing. But it was the first time he noticed everybody else was standing on two. In that moment, he noticed the towering trees all around them. They too only had one leg. Many arms but only one leg. And they too were indeed standing.
Little Grackle had great admiration for the tall oaks that allowed him to perch and watch the meadow and had always taken pride in the fact that he too stood tall but small. Only now, he realized that he had been doing so on just one leg. He felt sorry and sad for all those other birds who would never look as proud and strong as the tall, stately trees above them.
Little Grackle could now take much pride in looking like a tiny but majestic tree, especially on bright, sunny days when he too would cast such an impressive, albeit small, shadow. However, the rough part was having to let this female know that because she had two legs to stand on, it was painfully clear to him that they would never be a match. He wanted to let her down politely, but quickly.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” he said, taking sudden leave and flying into the highest oak. When he reached his favorite perch, he looked down below at the dances still taking place with the all the females and all the males and their bobbing and bouncing folly. He admired more than ever the trees that had just one leg. They did not have to do any extravagant dance except with the wind gently blowing their limbs back and forth. And they were perfectly happy. Just like him. For it was after all, a perfectly sunny day.