Ten Birds

Ten birds. They were sitting on the phone line, the old line that sags in the middle. Each of them sat exactly the same space away from the next in line. They reminded me of notes on a scale.

A breeze scattered the scale. Then one by one the black birds settled onto the sagging phone line. As they landed, each one sang a tune. By the time the last one had settled in place, all the notes blended into a bird symphony.

I laid on the ground, listening to the musical interlude. The songs melded into eight part harmony, then into five, finally just one bird sang a mournful tune.

Seems the party was over. I raised myself on one arm, then rose.

“Bravo, bravo! Your symphony was amazing. From the opening movement to the Scherzo to the Finale. Bellissimo! Bellissimo!” I gave the artists a round of applause as well.

“Are you quite alright?” The bass voice surprised me.

“What? Oh, well, the birds were amazing. You see, they sat on that wire there, it looked like staff paper. You know, the paper you write musical notes on.”

“Ah, a real connoisseur of fine music.” This handsome man laughed. “Pardon me, I am Henry Jacobs. I heard your shouts and thought you were maybe in trouble.”

“I come here often. I love the birds. I guess between the birds and myself, we made quite a noise.”

Henry Jacobs smiled wide. “It was music to my ears.”

I smiled. He smiled. The whole world smiled.


“And that is how I met your grandfather,” I told my two granddaughters.
“Again! Again! Tell us about the birds that looked like music notes.”

“And how Poppa surprised you in the park!”

“Okay, one more time. Then bedtime…”

W/C 295