Tuesday September 13th 2011 Tim Candler
Very concerned for the Cedar
Mockingbird. He is having trouble with his molt. Could be a
deficiency of diet, something in the water, a bad case of mite. Or it
could be stubbornness on his part, which isn't beyond the bounds, given the
history of Close Mockingbirds here where I live.
A person has to wonder what it
might be like to have feathers. We grow hair, finger and toe
nails, and red or purple blotches. Our skin as I understand it is
constantly shedding, which always strikes me as slightly revolting, but
when the summer is almost through we do not have to hang around waiting
for a molt to see its course.
For the Cedar Mockingbird it has
been almost a month since first he began to appear disheveled and wretched.
Nor can I believe he sees imitation as a form of flattery, even though I too
have this past month given way to slovenliness and grime. But in the
tapestry there is always a chance, so perhaps if I dressed better myself.
Wore the pink tie, sang arias, set an example.
More likely it's a deviousness. A plot
to scatter his three children without having to come to blows. "I am
sick," he's saying. "I am infectious," he's saying. "Save
Yourselves, while you can!"