Open Writing

I'd hardly sat down at the pavement café when Henry Sparrow arrived. There he was, fussing around beneath the table. I reckon he knows exactly who I am and what I'm going to eat. If he sees that it has crumb potential, he flies in. Yes, I know we shouldn't feed any sort of yeast based food to wild birds, but Henry seems to thrive on the tiny portions of pastry, not bread, I give him from time to time.

Anyway, he flew up to a good vantage point, the top of the partition board thing that separates the café area from the parked supermarket trolley area. He had to wait until I finished what I was eating, a real home made Eccles cake, before there were a few crumbs for him. He flew higher up and sat on the top rim of a child's seat in one of the supermarket trolleys. From there, he could see the whole area around me, including the pavement on which I'd be throwing crumbs.

So I threw down a crumb. He ignored it. Well, there were just too many people hithering and thithering. The noise of people-chatter, squeaky trolley wheels, self-opening doors whooshing back and forth — even friendly sparrows are cautious, you know. When the flow of humanity slowed to just an occasional shopper, I threw down another crumb. He saw it, but didn't swoop down to eat it. He did something else I've never seen or heard him do before.

Henry issued forth a series of single chirps, and then looked round in a featherly masterful way. That's not all. After a minute or two, he burst forth in a series of double chirrups. Unfortunately, I don't speak Sparrowese, or is it Sparrowegian, so all I could say was something like, "Good bird!!" in the hope that he would appreciate the compliment. I think he did. He launched into a long and repeated series of threefold chirrups. Good gracious us!

It was then, and only then, that he decided to fly down and industriously partake of the victuals I'd been throwing down for him.

This whole process had gone on for something like ten minutes, during which I watched his every move and listened to his every chirp and chirrup. Well, almost. I glanced round from time to time, when someone walked by. Not one other person took any notice of him, even when his choral output was at its loudest and most vigorous. They didn't seem to know he was there.

Yes, I realise that everyone is busy, very busy, too busy, but perhaps just a minute or two of sparrow watching could provide preoccupied people with just a little bit of pleasant relief from their stress and anxiety.

Thank you, Henry.

© Copyright Brian Barratt 2010