A Black-Capped Love

I wrote this story because, at its core, it is true. True writing is good writing.

• Fiction

								
PART I
I did not expect to derive such beauty and heartache from the events I will chronicle before you. Like most life’s tutoring, it was unplanned and merely the byproduct of an unalloyed curiosity.

The day was warm and content, as was I. Having made good on my commitments for the day, I yearned to bathe my soul in the solace of Nature. I began to walk down a long and winding trail that dropped off at the local wooded area. Evening rays unionized with autumn hues and created something alluring, divine even.

Within the woods, the world seemed still and harmonious and before long, an inner quietude ensued. I was now ready to exit the same way I entered. But just then, a rather tumultuous affair plagued my stillness. An echoing uproar of crows and what I reasoned to be chickadees were fixed in a single location. There’s little I love more than seeing a flock of birds impregnate an infinite sky. I therefore gave my habitual clap to encourage takeoff, and off they went. Truly an immaculate scene.

Satisfied, I turned to journey home, but I noticed a single Black-capped Chickadee left over. “How peculiar,” I thought. I approached slowly to reason the meaning of such an oddity, and to my surprise, the bird carried on as if I wasn’t there. It pranced about, pecking at the ground long enough for me to notice its wounded wing. Whether it was the cause of a predator or another unfortunate circumstance, I knew not.

I longed to cradle the gentle creature, perhaps nurse it back to health. But mankind has taught me all too well what comes of interfering with nature, even in the slightest. I managed to draw so close that I could look directly into her eyes. You don’t know what true vulnerability is until someone really sees you. She saw me. It seems mad but there was something Godlike within her.

For the next few days, I rid myself of anything that would prevent a communion with my divine and broken creature. I’d return to the same spot every morning; and there she was, waiting. Her gaze was steadfast, fixed upon the sunrise like she knew what it was up to. In due course, I’d follow her as she trekked on foot to find local water and bathe herself. The journey was tiring, even for me. And I supposed myself fit until then.

By the restorative gaiety in her song, it was evident she felt refreshed. I too had a fondness for simple things. Her scavenging was to follow. Deep and wide she’d trot, gathering an assortment of moss, berries, and an occasional beetle. She’d haul it all back to her nest, burrowed within an old, decaying tree stump, hidden from plain view. Quite resourceful really. There laid a stockpile of berries in her comparatively large nest. The raw materials of moss and fur were structured and interwoven in such an orthodox manner.

I surely kept a distance, but nearby enough she could feel my presence. I’d watch her gracefully elude local predatory creatures; they seemed to get closer each attempt, but she remained ever stoic. Day after day, I followed her, and the routine rarely changed. I wished to remain fixed in her presence, knowing the feeling was mutual. But as the days passed, the sun was determined to set quicker than the day before.



PART II
Lying awake one night, I thought to use the following day to rectify some losses on behalf of my fellow patrons, lest I go out of business. I did such a thing, and it took the entire day. The following day, I made way to our usual spot and found it unsettlingly empty. I watched the sunrise partnerless, with an occasional glance over my shoulder for any sign of my beloved. I was distraught, broken truthfully. It was at that moment I realized what she meant to me, and I assuredly felt in my heart what I was to be for her.

It felt vital I return home to pray. I hastily went about my way and prayed, very earnestly, that nothing happened to her. I contemplated how the predators were drawing close. I prayed the day away, right up until I fell asleep. It was in the middle of the night that I awoke, with nothing to do but fixate upon the treacherously unhurried clock. After an eternity passed, at long last, the time had come. I forced myself halfway presentable and set out, in prayer, to our sanctuary.

In no way can I express the immensity of relief I felt upon seeing her. The entire world opened up to us alone, shutting everyone else out. Only she mattered. She was beauty incarnate, a thousand-fold. That morning, she did not watch the sunrise, she watched me watching her. It was the depth and infinitude of two mirrors gazing upon one another.

We went about our normal way; only it was particularly poetic. When all was said and done, I smiled the way home at sundown. I could not sleep that night, obsessing over a single thought that recurringly played in my mind like a broken record. If my sweet Chickadee was living such a life, impaired as she is, how miraculous a life she would lead here with me. I had scarce suspicions, but they were fleeting. My benevolence was assuring.

I could feel the sun stirring, so I set off. This day was quite cheerful, as was I. The walk felt prolonged until my arrival, then it was forgotten. I surveyed the area and there she stood, just as sublime as the universe reflected in the dew drops surrounding her. Her heart cave seemed noticeably puffed, it must’ve been the love she felt. She knew my plan, as she knew the sun’s.

I approached and gently picked her up, and with the exception of a subtle twitch, my caress appeared to be most welcome. She sang so beautifully. As did I. All the while home, our harmonics were exquisite. The entire world was fixed upon our hearty symphony. It felt like the beginning of a love novel, and the happy end.

When we arrived at her new home, I was exceedingly ecstatic to reveal to my beloved her new, quaint living quarters. My spine tingled. I went to extraordinary lengths to ensure everything was up to her divine standards. I even recreated her impressive nest. A replica, down to the texture of fur. It promptly laid within a finely carved tree stump, inside of which I stockpiled a plethora of berries and caterpillars for fine dining. I placed her within the nest a provided ample time for settling.

Life was good, I was good. Perhaps a bit incredulous of the fortune bestowed upon me, but good. I accepted it. She was destined for me, and I was for her. It was all so clear now. The very purpose of my existence was to help her, take ideal care of her, to love her.

I exhaled one of those deep exhalations, where any worries or concerns ride upon the wind. It must’ve put me straight to sleep for I woke up and the sun was set. I went to check on my beloved and as if we were already in sync, she had fallen asleep too. I made my way to her nest and gently blew on her back to awaken her, much like I did my hamsters when I was younger. They’d always perk right up, overcome with joy to see me.

My beloved, she did not. She didn’t move at all. I blew again, harder. No movement. The world excused itself and my heart dreadfully dropped. There was no breathing. There was no life, my beloved was dead. As was I.
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