There is just something unsettling about seeing a fallen bird. It happens daily, yes, but it is sobering to see. Yet, it is also beautiful to see up close! The magnificence of the wings, the little talons and the precision of the beak...it is fascinating.
While sketching this, I was reminded of some personal writing that my father penned before he passed away. I thought it was profound, and I'll share it below.
MELVIN IS LUCKY, I THINK
Mark
J. Monson
Melvin stalks the sparrows
with his Winchester-cock-style bee-bee gun.
I follow right behind him watching his prey hit the ground. Now it’s your turn he encourages me
handing me the gun.
Another flock circles and
lands unaware of Melvin and me and the bee-bee gun. I aim, my heart pounds...the gun
discharges. The leaves flutter and all
the birds fly. I’ve missed.
Melvin is much better at this
than I am. I think it’s because he’s practiced with his dad. My father died before he taught me to kill
birds. I wonder if he would have taught
me had he lived... probably not.
Melvin is lucky I think.
Don’t worry, you’ll hit
one next time Melvin assures me.
We continue our hunt. I carry the gun. Then I see it...a yellow canary perched on a
sun flower. The yellow image, posed
against the blue sky, blazes in my eyes.
Melvin sees it also and
whispers Quick or it’ll fly.
I look at it through the “V” sight of the
gun. It’s beautiful...
Shoot! Melvin insists.
I do.
My ears hear a dull thud and
the canary falls back and down.
Melvin is elated and runs
toward the sun flowers. I stand dazed,
not moving. Holding the gun.
My trance is broken as Melvin
shouts I can’t find it in this darn grass.
I move toward the sun flowers
looking down at the red-splattered, flaxen-colored grass. Following the trail of blood, I see the
canary looking up at me. It appears
confused and frightened. I wonder what
I’ve done.
The bee-bee has punctured the
canary’s throat. Blood and air bubbles
ooze from the opening. The bird labors
to breath. Within moments there is no
movement. The yellow is matted with red
and is lifeless
Melvin is patting me on the
back, for how long, I don’t know. When I
turn to face him, he’s smiling. I hand
him his gun and walk away. He calls to
me What’s wrong?
I stop and turn to face
him. The experience replays in my
mind. I walk away and he questions
Don’t you want the bird?
No, I hear myself
say, still seeing the red splattered yellow, I’ve got to go home now.