Bridget's Birds

I walked up the steps rehearsing what I was going to say to Bridget Beaver when she opened the door.

"Hi Bridget, I was just passing by and I got stuck in traffic and thought I'd drop in and get out of the rain." But before I had fully made my plans the door opened and Bridget was standing there.

"Hi Jack," she said to me, "A little bird told me you were in the neighbourhood and I hoped you'd get out of that traffic jam and come up to us for a visit. Come on in and meet my guests."

Without any more ado she turned and led me up the wide stairway to her studio. I just had time to peek into the door to her tidy little living room as I went up. Bridget is so smooth and agile in her movements that it is easy to forget that she is getting on. She was at the top before me and turning to say something to someone in the main part of the studio.

When I got to the top and looked around it took me a moment to orient myself. At the back, near where I was standing at the top of the stairs, was a long tabletop under narrow windows, all of them open, with two sinks built in, one of them more like a bathtub. It looked like dishes were being washed in the other one and I noticed that Bridget was wearing an apron. In the main part of the room, under the high windows, a big table was being used as a dining table and a family of Foxes looked like they were just finishing lunch. On the far wall there was a fireplace with a log fire burning. And on all the walls were large paintings of birds (mostly Blue Tits), some looking like they were still being worked on. All around the edges of the studio were pots of paints and pencil sketches of birds on the floor.

What made it hard to focus, however, were the birds themselves. The room looked like a convention of Blue Tits. All the way from the sink over to the big window at the front the birds were perched everywhere. The only place that they were avoiding was the table with the family of Foxes in the centre.

"Jack, I'd like you to meet Edmund Fox, the great Bird photographer. And this is his wife, Mandy, and the three little Foxes," and Bridget led me over to the table. Edmund didn't stand up and I just nodded to him and murmured something. He looked at me with a glazed expression that I attributed to being surrounded by so many Blue Tits. His wife, Mandy Fox, hardly looked at me. In fact she was gazing out the big window, staring at the rain and humming. The two young boys were playing idly with palm-games and in the gloom of the rainy day their games shown a flickering light on their faces. They didn't look up at me at all. Their plump older sister gave me a bored glance as she worked her way through a bag of Salty Snax.

"The Fox family just drove up from the South Coast," said Bridget, "and they all had a long, tiring trip."

They looked to me as if they hadn't yet got out of the car. For all the world they could still be on their trip wheeling along on their way up from the South Coast.

There was a whistle behind us and Bridget and I turned to see a couple of Bluebirds standing in the window. "Bridget," one of the Bluebirds called out, "A new song just came in on the computer at the Birdbank. We can sing it to you!"

"Lovely," said Bridget. "Come along Jack, and we'll listen."

While Bridget resumed washing the dishes I stood near her and we listened to the wet and dripping Bluebirds singing the new song. It was called "I Can't Give You Anything But Love" and it had an immediately catchy tune. As they sang the rain was clearing behind them and the sky brightened. The whole event (the song, the birds, the weather) made me feel very emotional. It was like an absurd highpoint from some very sweet family film.