Read my latest story, "A Tale of Two Birthdays", at 52|250.

Pre-Aubade

birds bring me to your eyes
long before they open

longing for their flecks
that make so hard to fill
forms that want one color
                       oh I want them all
                  I lie
here, nex,t to you

                  but not
not because you're not awake
but because you're somewhere else    longing

will bring me to you soon enough  for now just wish
birds would shut up

I spent today traipsing around Kuala Lumpur’s Lake Garden Park. I started out at the National Museum. Unfortunately, half the exhibits were closed. From there, I followed the sometimes confusing signs to the Bird Park; because it consists of a large aviary with space for flight, I expected birds kept in relatively free conditions. Unfortunately, many were kept in cages within the larger space; the raptors in particular seemed ill-pleased. I watched a parrot show: the birds seemed wholly disinterested in the tricks. I could see that all they could think was, “now can I have my seeds?” This bothers me quite a bit: I believe that the only performances that should be encouraged in animals are those that, of themselves, give the animals delight (or at least health).

The highlight of today was the butterfly park. I’ve never been able to get so close to butterflies before. I even witnessed one approach a hibiscus only to be frightened off by an emerging dragonfly.

After that, on my way past the National Mosque, I was accosted by an aggressive taxi driver. (I should note that I mean aggressive by the standards of what I’ve witnessed so far in Kuala Lumpur; he would fit in well in China.) As I approached the spot where he had stopped his taxi, I responded to each of his several may-I-help-yous with no. Finally, I made an ‘x’ with my forearms– to which he asked, “Where are you going?”

“I’m walking.”

“I can help you.”

“No, you can’t. How can you help me walk? Are you going to carry me?”

If you ask me, the AP buried the lead in this story: Lost Parrot Tells Veterinarian His Address. The real story is not that parrot had learned to recite his name and address but that he knew enough not to talk to the police. Apparently, even birds know better than to trust the cops.

When I was an undergraduate, we were always astounded to hear the birds in the library eaves and the campus woods singing around two or three in the morning. We were sure that they, too, were in college. From an even younger age, camping trips always meant a cacophony of bird calls that was considered harmonious all the day except perhaps at sunrise. A trip down to water, whether an urban or wild shore, has always included the sight of diving or floating birds. The music, movements, and various patterned feathers– bright to dull– of birds accompany most all my valued memories. Windows cannot keep their songs and calls out of our homes (thank goodness).

But now a full quarter of all bird species in the US are in danger of extinction. This number is likely to increase if global warming and habitat destruction continues apace. When something so interwoven with your life vanishes, it leaves a vague emptiness; when something so interwoven with one generation’s life is not so connected to the next, it is difficult to say how they will be affected. With less music coming into our minds, will we become less musical? Will we sing (literally or otherwise) as well? Will we want to?

Environmentalism has never really been about saving the Earth. It has always been about preserving and improving our human quality of life, and when that conflicts with economic indicators, it should be easy to see which should give way.

EDIT: Note to self: be sure to preview and proofread post when functioning on less than three hours of sleep.