When
I tell my granddaughters about Junkos
“Let me tell you
about these little birds,”
I'll say, “that
I saw in Seattle....”
(There will be
lots of questions then:
“Where's
Seattle?” “Is it far?”
“Can we go
there?” “How'd you go?”
They move along
a story
the way they
pump the swings
in the park down
from their house--
quickly, rising
higher, full of wonder.)
Then I'll tell
them how the cook
in the
conference center where I was,
saw me watching
the little birds.
He was smoking a
cigarette,
watching me
watch the birds
while I smoked
as well.
(I'll leave out
the part about cigarettes.
Let their
parents deal with that someday....)
“They're called
Junkos,” he called to me.
“The little birds?”
I asked.
He nodded and
blew smoke.
I jerked my head
as one flew by,
almost skimming
the grass.
He told me there
were two kinds.
The ones with
gray heads were just Junkos
and the ones
with black heads were called
'hooded Junkos'
with their black hoods.
Junkos are small
and quick.
Swallow like,
with long splashes of white
on their wings
when they fly.
Curious birds, a
couple hopped
into the meeting
room we used,
craning their
necks and watching us
for a while,
wondering about us,
I suppose, then
hopped back out
the door we left
open
because of the
heat.
I told the cook
about Junko visits
and he replied
they came in the kitchen
from time to
time,
then left.
I imagine Junkos
live in the
East, as well,
and my
granddaughters
could see them
some day
in Baltimore.
I could look it
up
before I tell
them
in the green
bird book
my friend John
loaned me,
mostly forever,
because
I love birds.
I could show the
girls
the color plates
of birds--
a multitude of
them--
which I
sometimes just
look at without
reading the names.
But I don't
think I'll research Junkos
before I see the
girls.
I'd rather just
wonder if I'll
ever see one
here, in the East,
or if they live
only on the Pacific
side of this
wide land.
I like to wonder
about stuff like that--
even stuff I
could Google and know.
So I'll just
tell them how much
I loved watching
the Junkos
and leave it at
that.
Let them wonder
about the birds.
It's always
good, I believe,
to wonder about
things.
I pray those
little girls,
wondering-machines,
will never stop
wondering.
That is what I
pray.
JGB 7/11/11
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