Our Sunday coffee guest

 

On the Sabbath too. This fine feathered friend, an American kestral, handsome as the day is long, flew into our downstairs window when the two of us were down here sipping coffee and watching the news. Couldn't help but wonder, in fact, whether Pella's finest glass was going to hold up in the bang. The minute it happened, before I even got up from the couch to look for a body, I told my wife that someone had been killed. I had no idea it was this gentleman, pretty as a parakeet, about the size of a blue jay.

It's happened before, but never anyone quite this colorfully bedecked. But there he was, still alive, maybe gasping a little, sort of shakily standing on the deck, his feet precariously close to giving away the simple fact that he'd got his bell rung good and proper. There was no blood. He was upright, but he didn't move when I stood there on the other side of the glass not more than three feet away. I was likely nothing more than a blur.

When such events happen, we like to think a visitor, maybe especially one this distinguished, was just spoiling for a Sunday afternoon cup of coffee. It was a royal Sabbath really, but still, we can't help but believe we've got things to savor in this house, and it's not unthinkable that he'd want to drop by. 

But when this guy hit the glass, he wasn't knocking politely. He seemed intent on breaking-and-entering. I thought he'd be dead. Thank goodness, he wasn't.

Then why drop by? Apparently, I'm told, spring is the time for love, and what he saw reflected in the Pella glass was some other lookin'-for-love male scouting around for a date in a neighborhood this bro thought he owned. He was--and I know the feeling--testosterone-pissed, but he didn't take the time to ask questions. Like any other jealous chump, he lit into that reflection to keep the him-he-thought-he saw away from whatever neighborhood women he's got scouted. It was an imagined battle of a colorfully robed titans looking to secure their territory, one of which was nothing more than reflection. This guy got stung in a blind quest for control. 

All of which makes him kin to a stubby Russian with beady eyes, except this one here is maybe smarter and one heckuva lot better looking. 

(I feel like I should apologize to the this handsome American kestrel for the despicable unkindness of what I just said.)

Ten minutes, max, and he was off, flying brilliantly--maybe a bit of a headache.