It sat there, one frosty Monday morning. In the breaking dawn of mid-February, the clouds’ wispy steam covering the star-scattered sky.
Nestled and silent in the brambled trees, a bright red Cardinal flicked its wings, casting flecks of frost onto the dormant grass below. Its feathers were a stark contrast to the silent world around me.
My parents had feeders festering of other birds alike, but why this one rested beyond the others was beyond my reasoning. Perhaps it sought peace away from the crowd, or maybe it was not hungry, at least for the moment.
We commonly see bright-feathered birds during the long summer days of heat and sun. The cardinals, however, stuck around for the longer months of wintertime while the other birds of paradise fled to the south.
What was it like, to survive in a world covered in endless blankets of snow, and scrounging for scraps? Would it be hard to fly with cold wings and cut through the morning swiftly with intent?
Maybe life would be better, more simple. Only caring for food, and mate and little chicks that leave the nest in a few short weeks. To live and fly as high as I wanted, to be free of worldly burdens and spinning over clouds of mist.
To watch walks of life go by one by one just outside a window.
I sat down last night, thinking about this cardinal. What was it thinking? Why was it there and why had it picked my window to gaze through?
My paintbrush swept through colors and water, soaking and dripping into the paper. The corners of the singular page curled up into my palms.
With the image of the little bird still vivid in my mind, all I had to do was make the window and let my hands create the scene.
She was sweet, kind, and had the eyes of the Cardinal now sleeping in the frosty hollow.
Watercolor paints were never something I considered myself good at. I could argue that my younger cousin was superior at that. I’ve done flowers here and there, and sunsets that faded a little too much into water.
The brushes and the paint were never familiar until two summers ago when I was handed a small wad of cash. A message and a smile, to spend it so I could create more than what I knew was possible.
She was sweet, kind, and had the eyes of the cardinal now sleeping in the frosty hollow.
So in the warmth of the moment, the bird was enraptured in paints like the love and care she gave to me.
In the morning, when I woke, the first thing I did was look for the cardinal. Sure enough, it was there, watching over the breaking dawn. Free and untethered.
I’ve been told to make decisions I won’t regret, but that’s hard when I’m faced with thousands every day. That being said, the ones I do regret burn like volatile flames eating away at paper in the hearth.
I regret not trying hard enough. I regret not knowing why this cardinal is always there. Because when it flies away, I will never see it again or know it’s the same bird as it was before.
I had a friend, who once told me that cardinals are loved ones, who have passed the threshold of life and death, sent to watch over their families.
So, in mourning, I can forgive the regret because that bird is just her, smiling back at me. She says that she is happy, free to live in peace, and flies above worry, fear, frustration, anger, and all the things we were never meant to suffer.
I will find peace, just like the rest, because she will never truly leave us, just like we never left her.
