Friday, April 19th 2013

Yesterday as I walked to and from campus the heat of an eighty-degree day made a line of sweat form on my hairline and the shirt I was wearing to cling to my skin. The sun I was exposed to caused the bridge of my nose to sunburn a bit. It was as if Pittsburgh decided to skip spring altogether and race head first into summer.

     Today, however, the weather proceeds to surprise the city and bring in temperatures in the low fifties and a light drizzle on and off. I'm sitting on the bench in Baum with my knees close to my chest and the hood of my rain jacket covering my head. My exposed fingers feel the chill in the air, as does my nose. The dramatic change in weather however has not stopped the new visitors in the park who have been tricked into thinking summer was here.

     The last time I visited the park I saw a mourning dove perched in a tree. Today a muted gray dove sits on the rim of the trash can moving lazily to the right. I can't tell if it's a male or a female since I'm not sure if the coloring is different like a cardinal. The dove puffs out its chest like it's had a full meal and then raises its neck long and lean to let out its slow coo. It reminds me of the common loon in a way. The doves call transports me to northern Minnesota as a child lying in bed as the sun entered the open windows of the cabin and the echoed call of the loon on the lake both excited and haunted me. It was a wakeup call for me. The loon, a possible call of danger, separation, and longing. 

     The memory and the consistent cooing of the dove makes me wonder what birds use their calls for? Do higher tones mean different emotions? Are the speeds at which the bird calls play a role in communicating? What is the dove sitting on the trashcan calling out for?  Is the slow coo coo coo coo a longing for summer heat that was promised when the temperature reached above eighty?

         I know I will never know the exact reason behind these calls, but as the drizzling rain falls between the blooming new leaves of the trees I can’t help but let my imagination escape. Maybe a few blocks away another mourning dove hears the call and finds his or her way to Baum. Then the two doves will call together as they chase each other in and out of the tree branches. Then Baum won’t feel so gloomy or empty anymore. 

Friday, April 5th 2013

The robins have returned. I remember only months ago the small flock of them flittering about on the snow and hopping around the branches of the crab apple tree. I sat and watched one robin in particular obsess over something he had found in the snow. Now the snow has melted into the ground making the grass one giant sponge. The treasure the robin had found is lost to the layers of soil beneath the yellow feet of the new flock of robins that have descended on Baum.

            Rust colored breasts freckle the snot colored grass. It’s almost a healthy green, but the ground needs a bit more sunlight and rain until it reaches that deep emerald. Instead of using the crab apple tree as a jungle gym these robins glide along the grass with their beaks towards the ground. With spring here and summer rushing in there is plenty to feast on. I can only imagine the poor larva that poked his head out in anticipation for spring and ended up in the belly of a robin.

            I’m not sure what it is about spring, but it’s one of the noisiest seasons. Winter is quiet and calm. Spring hosts a choir of noises. The robins chirp around the park as the squirrels high in the trees squawk. Between all the chattering a mourning doves familiar coo coo coo repeats several times before I see it sitting on a branch of a Sycamore. I can’t help but laugh when the word ‘twitterpated’ runs through my mind. Baum’s visitors sure seem like they are going through a phase of love with not only each other, but of the sunshine, warm air, and the renewal of spring.

            Pittsburgh’s residents seem to be twitterpating along with nature. On my way to Baum I saw more bikers and walkers in two blocks than I had in four months. I passed by people in different shapes, sizes, and colors of sunglasses and some even wore flip-flops. It seemed like everyone in the city was out enjoying the appearance of the warm weather a sun that had been taking a longer winter vacation than planned. However they weren't necessarily twitterpated by the rest of nature springing to life again.

            As for me, I sit in my usual spot on the bench and twitter pate about the new critters who have joined me in the park. The warm weather and the sunshine are wonderful, but I've never seen the park so alive before. The robins move so quickly along the ground that it's difficult to keep my eyes on just one. It's like watching children at the playground: you can never just watch the one on the slide. You have to also watch the one swinging from the monkey bars or the ones flying higher on the swings. As I watch one robin run with his head down along the grass and then fly up into a tree I hope that with the forecasted rain due at any moment in the city that these critters will be here the next time I venture out.