The cardinals are chirping and they say hi
I am trying to text a joke. “Healing” is autocorrected to “shaking.” “America is shaking lol.”
There are so many little jokes keeping me afloat these days. The cardinals outside have finally discovered the bird seed wreath I’ve left on the fire escape. At 6am, they wake up my terror of an upstairs neighbor, which I know by the tell-tale heavy footed stomps towards the window above me. The cardinals tell him: “stop DJing all the god damned time, you piece of shit.” He goes back to bed, but nature is on my side. Nature is healing.
They say cardinals represent messages from those who have passed. I rarely check Facebook except to sometimes look at conservative people’s profiles for meme fodder. I logged-in today to find it’s a friend’s 40th birthday. She’s been dead for over 7 years, but people still post on her wall. I think she’d think that was funny. I don’t know if the the cardinal outside has anything to do with her, but I hope she is well wherever she is. Not everything is a sign, but that doesn’t mean that some things are.
The birds woke me up at 6am too, but it was close enough to the time I had set on my alarm to not bother me. I can hear them outside now too, at dusk. I wonder if they went to the hands off protest. I wonder if they cheered while Nancy Pelosi and Cory Booker spoke. I imagine what signs they hold, and realize they are too punk for that shit. Cardinals know to be critical of the establishment.
On Facebook, a crunchy person I studied yoga with claims she was brought to tears by Cory Booker’s recent durational speech. “Does anyone else get emotional when they actually do the damn thing?” I wonder if she knows that shortly after that speech, he voted to send more bombs to Israel. I guess it doesn’t matter if the performance pulls at your emotions. I guess the “damn thing” is making you feel comfortable and placated.
The birds are on the fire escape again. Now it’s mourning doves. The doves aren’t as radical as the cardinals, but they certainly don’t fuck with the Ruthkanda-coconut-pilled-kneeling-in-kente-cloth-while-supporting-a-genocide optics my crunchy friend is hee-hawing about online. I imagine the doves in conversation with the crunch. I don’t think there are enough reiki sessions for them to see eye to eye.
I volunteered with the Zohran Mamdani for Mayor campaign last week, canvassing to garner support for his impressive platform. I was teamed up with a 16 year old who volunteered from a local high school. “I’m just really interested in where he wants to take New York–we need it.” A cardinal was screaming from atop a tree on the block we started on. I will take this as a sign. I cry later that night thinking about the young person. I am filled with hope. Maybe this is the “damn thing.”
I am continuing to send my emails and make my plans. We are making plans because if we do not have something to look forward to–even if it never comes to pass–what is the point? I try not to stew in fear. The cardinals give me hope. The bluejay in the garden making weird noises at me gives me hope. I will not think too hard on why the eastern bluebirds don’t show up as much these days or why the plovers are scarce. I will not not think too hard either. I will not dwell on the news that check-points have been spotted on the Triborough bridge, stopping cars at random; ID-ing citizens and asking if their ethnic last names are theirs by birth or by marriage. I will not not dwell. I will make plans and hope that I travel and gather and perform and enjoy the people I love. I will make other plans as the shifts get shiftier. I will look to the resilience of the birds returning and not forget why less of them do so these days.