My aunt lent me a book called The Magic and Mystery of Birds. Who wouldn't want to read about that? The first chapter talks about the uncanny ability of pigeons and shearwaters to find their way home. Ornithologists have long studied the barely believable treks across land and sea using an inner sense of direction that cannot be explained. Is it their sense of smell? Visual cues? Perception of the magnetic forces around the globe? In an attempt to isolate their tactics researchers have used blindfolds, nose plugs, ear plugs, and magnetized boxes to transport birds to an unknown location and still they fly home without complaint. 

 

News of Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo was delivered by a homing pigeon, and more than a million messages were transported by birds' wings during the Franco Prussian War. Five hundred thousand birds were employed in WW l, at least if you count working for food.

 

What I want to know is, what messages are they bringing to each of us as we look out our windows?

 

Years ago I learned of a man who rented his flock of doves to be released at events like weddings. I was delighted to have them be part of a pageant and can still picture them ascending into the sky. A puff of whiteness, and the thrum of feathers only lasted thirty seconds. And yet here the memory is a decade later.

 

Birds are astonishing in enough ways to fill books, and keep scientists clutching their binoculars. I needed no such paraphernalia yesterday when a small robin was tugging on a ribbon attached to a pot on the deck. I grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped a few pieces loose, in hopes of contributing to her nest. I was pleased to notice that in a few minutes they had disappeared. Perhaps the eggs will be blessed by a bit of festivity.

 

There is a saying that we are all walking each other home. Which would be lovely if we could be certain that we even know the way. 

 

Maybe there is an indescribable ability locked inside each of us two leggers too, that tugs like a compass even against incredible odds.