There is a male cardinal that pecks ferociously at my back window, regularly. I see him every few days.
Now, I'm from the suburbs, where birds are skittish, swoopin' low only to grab some seed and then fly out of the range of cats and buckshot. I'm not used to the aggression of a Brooklyn cardinal.
One day I tried opening the back door to let the cardinal in, but he was having none of that. I opened the window, he stayed outside. He just wanted to peck at the window like a maniac.
The first time I saw this flaming red varmint, I thought he was my father--I thought my father had died, become reincarnated as a cardinal and had come to say goodbye.
My dad loves cardinals and wild birds, ya see. He takes pictures of birds. He has more pictures of birds in his collection than he has pictures of his six children. He expended a lot of his midlife crisis on bird photography.
Anyway, these days I'm inclined to think that even though my father is still alive, this bird still houses his spirit.
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