The sound of the rattling call of wuk, wuk, wuk, I can tell that the woodpecker is in the neighborhood. The call starts slow and short; then it progresses to a rapid tone and louder. As it turned out, the Woodpecker is either up on the roof or down below in the garden.
Between the Seagulls, Robins and Crows, the Woodpecker has to compete with these birds. Small as it is and alone, it can scare the competitors just by its territorial call.
I was hoping that it would stay longer so I can enjoy this elusive bird but it stays only for a short while.
Last night, my neighbor reported to me that we have to have a funeral service.
Of course, I don’t particularly become surprised with her mellow dramatic character; I’m used to her performance. When there is death in the building, it’s either a cat, rat, mouse or a dead plant. I normally volunteer to do the service.
“So… what died and where will I find the body? “ I asked.
With so much preamble from her, I basically have to pull it out from her lips what I need to hear. First she has to make an assumption that somebody killed it. Maybe the raccoon did it or maybe a gigantic sewer rat or etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
As it turned out, her and her husband found the Woodpecker dead underneath the umbrella tree. They are aware that I am very fond of this bird better than their pet crows that they feed every day.
Damn, double damn; not the beautiful bird.
Armed with a spade and hand gloves, I started the service without them. I wanted to be alone with the Woodpecker. I did not to give it a name because once I do, I will become personally attached to it.
The bird is still soft to touch and much more beautiful closer. With its long beak, black and orange color, polka dot speck on white fluff of feathers are stunning. Lifting its weightless body, I laid it on a bed of flowers. Gradually covering it earth, placed rocks on top and more flowers just like being a cemetery. I buried it in my secret garden.
It was all a matter of fact what I just did. It was alive, now it’s dead. Deep down inside, I hope there are no babies somewhere in a hollow of a tree left behind. Now, I am beginning to become dramatic just like my neighbor and if I don’t stop this whole thing, it will make me miserable just by thinking about it. Enough.
So long, Woodpecker. Fly and cross the rainbow. Thank you for being there.