Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Ornithological Althing




Tiles slope down and down just beyond arm’s reach, before me.  I’m parked atop a pillow on a stone bench up along a second story porch.  Tiles that seem very old to me, but what do I know?  Layered like the belly of some grand reptile turned on it’s back.  Each shell a different shade of orange and brown and white covered in decades of bird shit and lichen.  Bright green palms blowing in the wind, crackle stiffly.  They sweep against the tiles, forming an odd tropical contrast of color, like the Indian flag, or the Eire tricolor, as well.  But than the sky behind is a tropical azure. And no one has an orange and green and blue flag, do they?



My younger one and I were up at 4:30AM.  We talked for a bit, quietly.  Eventually, I talked her into a walk.  “This is best time to explore a city.  All the birds will be out.”  “Let’s wait for those guys.”  “They aren’t getting up for a while.  Remember the time we walked around Vienna in the early morning?”  “Oh yeah.”   Just you and me.

Dawn broke and we walked over to the old Merced church around the corner.  It was closed of course, but we took some photos outside.  A man walking toward us, carrying a thermos was yelling “café caliente.”  I was tempted.  I considered his load and his strong forearms and he ambled off in front of us, yelling out as he passed this security guard, or that person sweeping the sidewalk.  Oddly, a young woman turned over a civic trash bin and swept the pile into the sidewalk.

Off in the distance was a tremendous din.  We had heard the parrots in the park, the day before.  But now, at 5:30AM there was something considerably more cacophonous throbbing away.  We made our way to the central square.  The screaming overwhelmed the automobiles and the ring of a cell phone and the growl of a bus.  Entering the square this shrieking was overwhelming.  I had thought it was solely a flock of parrots, but instead, it seemed like some ornithological Althing.  I presume this is somewhat seasonal, but could not say why so many birds choose these trees to congregate around.  I sat on a bench, and tried to close my eyes to listen, but my younger one insisted we move on, afraid of being shat on, she was.  Chances were rather high for this, I agreed, and we continued on our way. 

I had a rough idea to make our way to Granada’s enormous lake front.  To my recollection it wasn’t more than a kilometer away.  The side street were now making our way down, was a bit sketchy, despite the pastel turquoise and yellow façades covering the buildings.  The latest of the late night traffic, stood on corners behind kids on their way to school.   We stopped at a church and asked another pedestrian who confirmed the lakefront wasn’t far.  I promised my daughter we’d take a cab back if she continued on with me down the road. 




The lake is like a sea, extending on beyond what my eyes could take in.  We came to a fence.  Wispy reeds covered the shore, blown by the tremendous, unobstructed wind.  “Don’t worry.  These mosquitos can’t do anything because the wind is too strong.”  A pier stuck out into the lake, demanding to be walked upon.  My daughter was having none of it.  I saw a man out on the pier and decided to check the gate.  It was locked.  As he got closer I saw he was carrying a rifle.  Funny how the eyes pick up the important things.  “Sir.  Is it closed?”  “Yes.  It is closed.” 


We heard a bang.  I didn’t see anything.  My daughter pointed out that someone had fallen from a motorcycle.  A young woman was moaning.  Her feet were in the air.  A crowd had gathered.  A pickup truck was parked near by.  I couldn’t tell if she had been struck. It looked more like the bike had just fallen on top of her.  A man lifted the bike up.  She was in pain.  I debated, but didn’t think there was much I could do to help, with so many people around her.  We walked back till we saw a cab and discussed how dangerous motorcycles were as we rode back to the town square with a young man and his son, in the front seat.

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