Willingness

The other day I was sitting on the lanai trying to figure out an eleven-lettered word for the clue “Volunteer State?” Those question marks always throw me a curve. As I pondered the puzzle I watched a little bird come bouncing across the patio. Each bounce emitted a peep. Peep. Bounce. Peep. Bounce.

Once she (I concluded such because of the dull plumage, but I later learned this was an immature yellow billed cardinal confined to the Kona Coast) reached the lanai she kept right on track without any hesitation. She hopped right past me and jumped into the condo.

I waited.

Once inside I couldn’t see her. Moving would scare her. I didn’t want a frightened bird flying about, smashing into windows, pictures and mirrors. So I sat quietly.

There were fresh biscuits on the counter in the kitchen. After a little while I imagined two things. She perched on the rim of the plate to enjoy the batch or she continued to jump across the floor or worse my Tibetan rug. I doubted my little bird was housebroken.

I waited.

After a few minutes she floated out to the lanai and landed on my bike. No tell tale signs of biscuit crumbs stuck to her beak. She peeped a few more times. And flew to the neighbor’s tree. Then she took off across the street and into a tall tree down the way.

Gone.

I thought about the disconnect. Sitting in a tree singing a wild song was a bird that moments ago brazenly waltzed into a condo. Who would know this? Just me.