"Hope is the Thing with Feathers..." (Blog prompt 3

                “There’s a cardinal!” I peek over Dad’s shoulder, trying to find the crimson feathers in the brilliant sunlight. “There. Do you see it?” he asks, pointing to the snow laden branches in our backyard. Finally, the little bird comes into view. He hops about, fluttering this way and that, dancing by himself. 

                Dad always noticed things like that. He knew the names of birds I couldn’t even distinguish. Through his eyes, they became precious, jewel-like to me. So, I decide to look for the Northern Cardinal this morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of color in my faded backyard. When I see them, I smile, thinking that I can feel Dad standing beside me, pointing them out, speaking softly as if we might scare them away. 

                Cardinals don’t migrate, which is why I see two of them this very moment, chasing each other up a tree in the middle of winter. They are silky, cheerful red against the tree tops, so vermillion that I imagine they are nature’s ornaments. They don’t molt, either. When I notice them among brambles and creeping vines, they simply cannot hide. I think they like it that way. All the better to show off their pompous crests. In fact, cardinals enjoy bushes and vines. They don’t nest too far from the ground, and they have no qualms with making their homes among humans. They prefer backyards and parks. For this trilling, cheeping bird, human expansion has been a blessing. 

                They are extraordinary for their plumage, but common enough. Yet, there is something about them that draws me. Yes, it is their connection to Dad, but I have discovered something about them: They are monogamous. Some say they even mate for life. So, when the male frolics about, carefully placing seeds into his female partner’s beak, he is caring for her. If she dies, he will mourn. Cardinals don’t seem like the grieving type, really. They are too bright for that. They cannot take on a mantle of midnight. They can stop singing, though. They can hide themselves for days if they choose. And then they go on, finding other mates, feeding other hatchlings. Certainly they act on instinct. I wonder, though, if these tiny singing creatures feel loss. Maybe, for a couple days, emotion fills their plump chests instead of song, overtaking what their bodies tell them they must do. Cardinals always come back, though, you know. They always find another tune, another breeze. They are hope against a stark white and brown winter world.

·         -I found info. On cardinals at the following websites: allaboutbirds.org, cardinalbird.org, and wild-bird-watching.com