THE MOCKINGBIRD

Now I know why the mockingbird sings.

Some of you may remember my love/hate relationship with the avian family that shares our location -- especially our back yard. (See Noise, June 15, 2015.) A native Texan, I've lived my entire life among mockingbirds, except for the long months we lived in Augusta, Georgia. I know mockingbirds thrive in Georgia, but in my world of city buses, a high-rise apartment complex and a noisy, crowded downtown office building, I never saw or heard one. They welcomed be back when we returned to Texas.

I've always loved and respected the mockingbird. I remember studying Texas history and memorizing the state song, flower, tree and bird. He has amazing intelligence, talent and entertainment ability. During daylight hours, I enjoy his companionship. Our battles commence soon after the sun sets and heavy darkness descends. If he is seeking a mate, he sings all night, hoping she will be drawn to his vocal range and extensive repertoire. If he has a mate and she is sitting on a nest of newly laid eggs, or if she is tending hatchlings, he sings all night to give her comfort and assurance that he is nearby. I get it. That's logical - even admirable. But if I'm desperate for sleep, and he is singing from a shrub beside my bedroom window, I lose all compassion and understanding and rush outside with a broom to thoroughly thrash his perch. 

But a little handicapped girl has shown me the error of my ways. She says the mockingbird sings because he is scared and lonely in the dark. He cannot see any of his friends. He's afraid they may have all flown away and left him. Sort of like whistling in the dark, he sings to bolster his courage until the darkness passes and daylight returns.

And so I've piled more pillows on the bed. I'm going to put them all over my head when the mockingbird sings at midnight outside my window.

Quote: God created the birds of the air and sees the fall of every sparrow.