On my daily walk, I saw a single bird sitting on a powerline. It was either an American Robin or a Red-Winged Blackbird. This was during the shifting hour of night into day, so I couldn’t be sure. It was silent. Watchful.
“If I were a bird, I would be angry at humanity and want to shit on it.
Out of paranoia I pulled my hoodie tight over my head. For some odd reason I’m always under the impression that the morning birds want to shit on me. As a schoolyard prank or out of spite. If I were a bird, I would be angry at humanity and want to shit on it. Either way, I haven’t been bombed. Yet.
I watched the bird for as long as I could see it, only lowering my head as I passed under the wire. The bird never chirped, sang, or made any attempts to fly away. It stood its ground, knowing full well that I wasn’t a threat. Me down on the ground, it high up on the line. For such a little creature, its advantage far outweighed my own. I could be hit by a car, mugged, kidnapped. For the bird? It could simply fly away.
“Sounds like the words of an arrogant asshole, but I walk at the
break of dawn so I can be alone with my thoughts.
My walking route leads me in a 2-mile rectangle around my apartment building. I like to walk through the neighborhoods because there aren’t very many people that I have to say good morning to. Sounds like the words of an arrogant asshole, but I walk at the break of dawn so I can be alone with my thoughts. I find it to be the optimal time for introspection and the exploration of ideas.
From the moment I saw that bird, my mind went to work. It exploded with a multitude of different topics: “Should I write a poem about this bird?” “Why didn’t I have my camera to take a picture?” “Do I always need to document everything I see?” But the main question, the question that stuck out to me like a sore thumb was this, “Does that bird even know what it’s perching on, and the dangers housed within that black insulation?”
Does it? I don’t know. And as it was recently pointed out to me, it’s an arrogant way of thinking for man to presume that animals don’t understand the world around them. Honestly, they probably understand the world far better than we ever could. Their senses are heightened, and their instincts are razor sharp. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that to be fact. Man has proven it repeatedly that we aren’t the brightest crayons in the box. Reference shows such as Ridiculousness, and Jackass or scroll through the “social” world of TikTok and IG reels. But I digress.
Now, I could delve into the topic of how electrical currents work in power lines, and I could even research why backyard birds don’t get electrocuted when they perch, but that wasn’t what interested me in that moment. I was more interested in why a bird would choose to sit on a powerline instead of on a tree branch. To me, it was a no-brainer but that would be my arrogance talking.
“I feel guilty for every time I get pissed off
when a bird fecal blasts my car windshield.
Which brings me back to my original train of thought. Did this bird realize it even had a choice? Could it tell the difference between a tree and a powerline? Or had it, like humans, been indoctrinated into accepting this new reality? Considering that the average lifespan for either an American Robin or a Red-Winged Blackbird is two years, I’m guessing the latter.
Everyday I look outside my studio/office window, and I see birds on the wire. Often by the handfuls. To the naked eye they just look like they’re hanging out and they very well could be because, why not? But when I get a little more reflective, I have to say I feel ashamed. I feel guilty for every time I get pissed off when a bird fecal blasts my car windshield. For every time it sits on my window ledge and chirps and chirps and chirps until I wake up in frustration. What right do I have to be angry or annoyed? I don’t.
When I think about the situation now, I can feel that I’m torn. I’m torn between the idea of adaptability and a sense of duty for preservation. Do I wish that trees and ecosystems hadn’t been decimated when the cities began to become more populated? Yes. Do I wish to be stuck in the Middle Ages and denouncing the advancements of technology and industry? No.
Marcus Aurelius (Stoic philosopher/Roman emperor) stated, “the more we value things outside our control, the less control we have.” And that’s how I feel about that bird on the powerline. It’s (probably) not worrying about why human beings uprooted the landscape to make way for more strip malls and obnoxious cell phone towers. Or why we only tend to plant trees as “In Memory Of…” shrines. It just continues to live and adapts as it goes along. That’s another advantage they seem to have over (the majority) of us.
Once I grasped this notion, the idea of the bird on the wire became less about safety and guilt. It became a transcendental experience in placing more value on what is in my control. I wanted to see through the lens of the bird, or at least what I perceived that lens to be, and take control back. Control over my own actions and reactions to what comes up in life. And there will be A LOT of “things” that come up. In the meantime, I’ll continue to adjust, mature, and educate myself every chance I get because knowledge is power. As for the bird, I still think it’s biding it’s time to shit on my head. That little jokester!
