Conspiring with Parrots

Conspiring with Parrots

Noel Laflin

8-12-15

“A free bird leaps on the back of the wind

and floats downstream till the current ends

and dips his wings in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.” 

Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

As I walk the old neighborhoods of El Modena, I am frequently struck by the melodic chirping and singing of caged birds. Listen carefully and you too will also hear the chattering of parakeets, the singing of canaries, the squawking of parrots, and the screech of cockatiels. Often times I will stop mid step along the sidewalk and look for the source of the melody, squeal, shriek, or holler.  Sometimes I am not alone in my curiosity.  Looking up I will frequently find wild parrots sitting attentively on a phone line above me, their heads cocked, zeroing in on the same song or cry. And like my wild green feathered friends above, or so I sometimes fantasize, I wish I could open some cage doors and set their pals free.

Maybe it’s just the lingering memory from the stage play, Mary Poppins that has put me in such a wistful mood.    Mary sets free a caged lark near the end of the show, after the bird has told her of his two-year captivity.   He flies away happily whilst his captor is eventually caged herself and put away in some dark closet. It’s a crowd pleaser of a scene every time - true karma at its best.

 

Or perhaps,  it’s just the  fact that  I am usually coming back from another  birding expedition down  at the small  pond, trying  my  damndest  to catch a  graceful egret,  hawk, falcon, bluebird, kingfisher, hummingbird, phoebe, dove or heron in flight.  Catching sight and capturing a frame or two of the magnificent Pin-tailed Whydah, descendents of escaped caged pets imported from sub-Sahara Africa decades ago, are a particular thrill.  There are at least two males and a host of females claiming the southern portion of the pond as their territory now.  They have made it in the wild just fine.  And they too like to sit atop the phone lines.  I wonder to whose song they might be tuning in.

Most recently, my attention has been drawn to the evening skies as massive flocks of wild Mexican parrots swarm, twist, turn and noisily land in the numerous oaks or sycamores that permeate our neck of the woods. Often they will take over long stretches of phone lines, out-conversing Ma Bell herself.  They are an amature photographer’s delight.

 

So, whether successful in the daily photo attempts or not, the wild parrots and I continue to conspire as I walk, stop and all too often listen to a mournful tune.

“The caged bird sings with a fearful trill,
of things unknown, but longed for still, 
and his tune is heard on the distant hill, 
for the caged bird sings of freedom.”

Maya Angelou