An unexpected arrival

It was a perfectly mundane day, the kind that neither delights nor distresses, the kind that often exists, the kind of day without which extraordinary days would have no meaning. But if remarkable things are to happen they are likely to happen on an ordinary day.

It happened one afternoon. They came from the east, dozens of them, their sounds poured through my window, breaking the silence of a cold winter day. For reasons unknown to me, they entered my world, a month earlier than the usual merry making of spring.

Numerous chickadees were moving from one branch to another, some hovering near evergreens before settling on a branch. It was as if they had found out about something, either very important or amusing. Amidst this unexpected conference of chickadees, I saw great many nuthatches, a few sparrows, and one cardinal joining the chorus. Nuthatches seemed to understand what the chickadees were up to, and their nasal chatter was in tune with them. And a few sparrows sat on a branch, away from all the chatter, wondering what the fuss was about. They muttered in short tweets like a grumpy elderly bunch disapproving all the noise children made. The cardinal had started singing at the top of his voice, a beautiful song of summer in the depths of winter, a song as bright as its feathers.

I had by now stepped out to witness this sudden outpour. I stood on the snow revelling this unexpected chorus in an otherwise quiet month of February, when alas, one by one they flew away, leaving the echoes and the deep silence of the winter behind. If I had wings, I surely would have followed.