It started with a sparrow. On my regular walk from apartment to bus stop - one of the few paths I've taken in the past couple years. And that's only changed, of course, because I moved from a crummy neighborhood next to a busy street where my packages would always get stolen, to an even crummier street where my packages don't even get delivered. I used to walk directly to work - now it's too far, I have to take the bus. When I actually go to work. It's not that I'm delinquent, mind you - it's that I'm writing a thesis. And the thesis just needs me and keyboard. Keyboards are everywhere, and I'm usually half here. But that's besides the point.
I've become a bit of a bird nerd over the years. It's always been an opportunistic thing for me. But I think as a city dweller I've come to crave any signs of life. "We can do it," say the birds, picking at garbage and dodging traffic, "so you can too". The lack of biodiversity in the city is astonishing. Only the strongest survive. Or simply the most prolific. House sparrows, of course. And rock doves - or pigeons, I guess. And I've seen starlings, too. But in the heart of downtown, I haven't even seen a mourning dove, or a robin.
I guess perhaps in any other situation I wouldn't have cared to notice her, then. The sparrow, that is. But there she was. Picking at garbage, like every other sparrow. At first, I'd assume some kind of paint accident. But a moment or two more confirmed that the white feathers were real, they were part of her typically tan coat. It was beautiful. It was oddly touching. For reasons I can't explain. I took pictures, and I've shown it to everyone, but they aren't nearly as captivated as I am. They're happy FOR me. They're amazed that I noticed it. But I don't think they see the appeal.
I saw her again on my walk back home. It felt like a small miracle, like seeing a friend while you're traveling overseas. Same white tail and everything.
I still see the sparrow almost every time I go out now. Which makes me wonder why I didn't see her before. I always want to tell people nearby just how special she is. I would, if not for the crippling anxiety and the fear of becoming engaged in a conversation with someone I have no idea how to disengage from.
I learned recently that many pigeons with special patterns are feral pet pigeons, and that they prefer to breed with one another rather than wild pigeons. Probably explaining why there are special patterns still remaining, out there in the wild. And I started taking note of the special patterned pigeons. I saw a dark one and a piebald one on my route to the bus stop. And on my way back, I saw the same two. And I guess I started to wonder if all birds just have the same routes back and forth for their entire lives. I wonder if they think that about me too.