I have a wind chime hanging from the rafters of my deck. It’s the usual, twine, a bell, and a bright red cardinal. He is stone, of course, painted with a garish red paint, the typical cardinal markings in black.

A few feet away, three red, flesh, blood and feather, male cardinals are scavenging the grass for seeds from the summer’s flower garden. Their mates in a quieter color palette are pecking nearby.

I can feel the wistful looks that the wind chime cardinal throws their way. Does he just want to be a real bird? Does he wonder what it’s like to fly, untethered by twine and stone? Does he know there’s a gi-normous sky created for birds to explore? Trees in which to perch and build nests and create little versions of themselves?

But maybe he sees the sense of his man-made captivity, safe rain or shine, never worrying about seed, water or warmth. Maybe he’s happy in his wind chime universe. His simple, tethered, wind chime universe.

Maybe I should go back to bed and think this through…

Published On: January 1, 2024By 0.9 min read

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