Disappointment is for the birds

The bird’s call rang out in the late afternoon sky. Hoo-ou-ou, hoo-ou-ou. The air swelled with anticipation. It trilled again. Hoo-ou-ou, hoo-ou-ou. The sweet question evaporated into the vastness.

Who was the bird calling out to? It certainly seemed like a beckoning. It was so heartfelt and melodious, like an offering, it almost certainly seemed intended for a lover. There was a quality of confidence yet searchingness to it, as if the bird knew his lover existed, he just couldn’t locate it.

As I waited to hear what happened, a crow’s cries tore through the air. Caw-caw. Caw-caw. Pause. Caw. Long pause. Caw. Startled, I wondered if the crow was responding to the overture. This was unusual! Tickled at the crow’s ballsiness, I felt a kind of admiration. It had given other birds the space to step up. Since none had, it threw its hat in the ring. What the hell, why not? it seemed to say. My kind of bird.

Sadly, there was no more sound from my bird hero. Maybe it was scared off. Maybe it was too disappointed. Only silence greeted the crow. Better luck next time, buddy, I said.


About Archana

I'm Indian and Canadian, and many other countries in between. I read comics every morning and believe the world could do with slowing down.
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