After a dental visit, Nanda took me to a park, Chinguacousy, and I sat to write by the pond. To the surprise of both of us, this red-winged black bird came darting at us. “Oh Krishna!” It must have been its nesting area, but in our minds this was our resting area, or at least relaxing zone before the Bramalea Mall opened.
But it got more serious. Our feathered friend came right at our heads, flapping its wings. No beak penetration occurred, like in the scenes from Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”
Nanda got defensive and picked up a convenient branch, fallen from the trees of yesterday’s storm. It was somewhat effective. The bird was persistent, however, and we were humbled by his territorialism.
A terrorist? I wouldn’t demonize the fellow that much. It was just a case of taking care of dharma—duty—in the form of protection.
I do like the sound of this red-winged creature. The shrill sound throws me back to childhood. In southwestern Ontario there are lowlands, former swamps, the space they like the most.
God made every creature in a certain way; most of them get cranky like this guy. I thank him for reminding me of Garuda, a super hero in the eagle category.
After the episode of attack, Nanda and I took care of phone business and then enjoyed the succulent parathas he had made.
May the Source be with you!