Shortly after have his capture, we took Atticus (I named the bird Atticus, as in Atticus Finch from "To Kill A Mockingbird") to the pet store to see if the pet people knew what kind of a bird he was. Turns out, he's a Golden Finch. Seems I chose a well-suited name for the little guy! Golden Finches are wild in these parts, but they also make good pets. The pet store people suggested we let him go, but of course, offered us the same kind of bird for only $100 bucks. But, why buy one when you can catch your own?!
Travis and I weren't sure how we felt about keeping the bird. But, I was also a little reluctant to let him go. This whole week I've been totally consumed with catching the bird and now that we caught it I didn't want to give up on having him so easily. We decided to borrow Jay and Laurie's old bird cage to house Atticus for a while to see how things panned out. He was really cute to watch and his song was so cute! At times he even seemed quite content despite his new caged environment. But, after a few short hours of captivity, Atticus seemed anxious to be a free bird, so we let him go. I do hope he decides to stop by my window every now and then to say hello, I enjoyed his visits.
I know what the caged bird feels.
Ah me, when the sun is bright on the upland slopes,
when the wind blows soft through the springing grass
and the river floats like a sheet of glass,
when the first bird sings and the first bud ops,
and the faint perfume from its chalice steals.
I know what the caged bird feels.
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
till its blood is red on the cruel bars,
for he must fly back to his perch and cling
when he fain would be on the bow aswing.
And the blood still throbs in the old, old scars
and they pulse again with a keener sting.
I know why he beats his wing.
I know why the caged bird sings.
Ah, me, when its wings are bruised and its bosom sore.
It beats its bars and would be free.
It's not a carol of joy or glee,
but a prayer that it sends from its heart's deep core,
a plea that upward to heaven it flings.
I know why the caged bird sings.
-Paul Laurence Dunbar
Ah me, when the sun is bright on the upland slopes,
when the wind blows soft through the springing grass
and the river floats like a sheet of glass,
when the first bird sings and the first bud ops,
and the faint perfume from its chalice steals.
I know what the caged bird feels.
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
till its blood is red on the cruel bars,
for he must fly back to his perch and cling
when he fain would be on the bow aswing.
And the blood still throbs in the old, old scars
and they pulse again with a keener sting.
I know why he beats his wing.
I know why the caged bird sings.
Ah, me, when its wings are bruised and its bosom sore.
It beats its bars and would be free.
It's not a carol of joy or glee,
but a prayer that it sends from its heart's deep core,
a plea that upward to heaven it flings.
I know why the caged bird sings.
-Paul Laurence Dunbar
1 comment:
I'm glad you let him go. We need more bird songs. Can you hang a bird feeder outside your window? My mom in Nebraska has lots of bird feeders and she continually has yellow finches eating on them. I loved watching them while I was there.
Post a Comment