Release
a feather, a whirlwind, a box
Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
A couple of weeks ago, I brought some Blackbirds and a Mistle Thrush home for release. The Thrush led the way, darting eagerly from the carrier right as I opened it, immediately getting to work foraging through leaves and chomping tiny insects. The others were more hesitant, but each eventually made their way out and began to explore. David and I watched them a while as they found their feet—and their wings—before leaving some food and water for them and heading back into the house. At 4am I could hear the Thrush singing, and at 6am, upon opening the back door, I was met by a familiar face. One of the Blackbirds from the day before had made her way from the woods, up the garden, and was stood looking positively unsure as to what she should be doing. I gave her some worms and sat cross-legged with her as she ate, taking her in, noting the single, small white feather that sits in amongst the chestnut brown on her left wing. After a while she bobbed over to the roses, and began tossing around leaves beneath them. When a Magpie came she startled and flew into a nearby Hazel bush. I spoke to the Head of Wildlife at the centre, and we both agreed that, rather than me bringing her back in, she should be given the chance to find her footing in this strange new world. And so now, Little Wing has breakfast and dinner, and a bath, next to the Blackberry bush by the back door, and, during the day, she explores. Gradually venturing further and further afield. Having myself spent many years being utterly confused by freedom, I feel a sense of kinship with Little Wing. On the days where we see less of her I temper my worry by orienting toward the trust I have in the will and the wisdom of the wild that runs through her. At just eight weeks old, she has taken up her burden of responsibility, and while my fears for her still chatter away like Goldfinches, there is peace in the faith that I have in her. Last week, David saw her and another Blackbird nibbling each other’s beaks. Yesterday, she stood up to a Robin who was trying to eat her mealworms. Slowly she pushes the edges of freedom, and soon she will make it her own.