When I last spoke with Carmela she observed that there were no birds in the sky. She felt this was very strange because back home in Iowa where she came from, she always remembered the presence of birds.

"Every morning the birds awake me with their song," she said. "But here there are no birds. It's strange."

I had never noticed it. I mean, the absence of birds. Come to think of it, she was right. I had been in the town for over a week and the trees rustled in the wind but no birds could be seen seeking refuge in their branches.

"It's very strange," she repeated. "Why are there no birds. Something is wrong."

Those were the last words I remember here saying when we departed. We had traveled together for a few days and then went our own way but I never forgot what she had said about the birds.

I thought back to my home town in Michigan and also remembered all the birds which had gathered in the small parks, especially the wrens, sparrows and pigeons. The pigeons had a special relationship to anyone who visited the parks. They fearlessly approached anyone sitting down on a bench and solicited a feeding of seeds or crumbs.

Then there was this old lady who visited the park everyday at noon and carried with her two bags laden with old stale bread which she had collected and saved. She always followed a path down to the edge of the lake and waited for the birds to come.

No matter where they were in the sky, the birds would sense her coming and spy here form a distance descending upon her for the crusts and crumbs of bread she had to offer. She was a homeless woman with tattered sweaters and frayed dresses handed down to her from church charities. Yet, she had developed a special rapport

with these winged creatures of the sky which was symbiotic, loving and sincere.

There were also other birds in the park less lovable than the pigeons and less graceful than the wrens and robins. They were the ravens and crows which looted and rampaged the rubbish bins for scraps of food after the people had left the park.

These birds were black, ugly and bothersome with beaks powerful enough to tear into a tightly wrapped package and search its contents for food. Their cackle and ravenous cawing were less than musical and complimented their appearance. They were ungainly birds bereft of beauty, no match in grace and flight for the robins, finches and wrens, but together all these birds filled the sky, sang in the trees, built their nests with twigs and moss and were part of the interwoven fabric of creation.

But here, thousands of miles from home there were no birds. Carmela was correct in her perception. Yet, there were plenty of trees which spread their leafy boughs above the streets, lanes and passageways of this spacious town. They served as a protective canopy to ward off the rays of the merciless sun but offered no refuge for birds of any sort.

As I walked through the streets, I took special notice of the lack of birds in the town. I realized that their absence created an eerie pallor over the houses and parks. Yet, instead of birds in the sky there was an unusual number of dogs in the streets. But these were not the cared-for pets I found back home. They were mangy street dogs, flea-infested, sore-ridden and diseased. They traveled sometimes in packs and their presence was ominous and threatening in the same way that the absence of the birds was eerie and sad. They scavenged through garbage piles in search of food and walked boldly through the markets. When they choose to rest they would lie in the shads of a tree or under a park bench with their heads either resting on the ground or upon their two outstretched front paws. The female dogs displayed a state of perpetual pregnancy with milk-laden teats hanging from their abdomen ready to feed the next litter of homeless pups, but still no birds in the sky.

What could have caused this unbalance in the town, this disruption of the harmony between man and nature, between land and sky? Somehow the equation had been distorted, the food chain disturbed. With the absence of birds surely the insects upon which they fed will thrive and multiply without being kept in check, and those animals to which the birds were food will be denied their share of the chain's bounty.

I've heard that before natural disasters birds have been known to desert the skies.

In the aftermath of the great earthquakes birds seek refuge far from the scene of the disaster, but afterwards when nature returns to its former cycle of calm, the birds also have been known to return.

Here in this small town all was calm and natural disasters had not stricken it in decades. When they did come they were few and far between. There was no drought to parch the soil, no flood to soak the land, no earthquake to frighten them away to other parts of the land. There was a relative calm with people going about their daily chores often working in silence.

But there was a war. It came upon the land several decades ago. It was no invited. It merely happened. The causes of the conflict were no longer relevant and most people even forgot the issues and arguments which lead up to the conflagration but in the aftermath the land was charred and lives were scarred and people were maimed and the souls of the dead haunted the lives of the living as the slow process of renewal brought back life to the town. The birds though must have been frightened and left. Why had they not yet returned?

As I walked through the streets I could only see a town that had been rebuilt. The decades which had passed had buried the ruins of war under new buildings, reconstructed and refurbished homes. The summer rains had washed the stains of blood from the streets and the birth of seasons had caused many to forget that there was even a war at all, but in the years of reconstruction and rebirth where had al the birds gone?

Along my path I found a small church hidden somewhere down a narrow side street. It was surrounded by an iron gate and had a small courtyard in from of it. A solitary tree stood proudly to the right of the entrance in the courtyard and several boys were playing quietly beneath its shade.

A dated cornerstone at the base of the church indicated that the structure was built a hundred years before the war. I climbed the stone steps and approached the entrance. From the exterior it appeared to be locked, but this was not the case. I pushed gently on the main wooden door and it opened with a creaking sound. Inside the air was cool, a respite from the summer's heat.

I walked toward the main aisle and took a seat in one of the rear pews. I gazed around me and realized that I was alone. It was a peaceful feeling to have left behind the everyday life and movement of a town in motion, not to mention the annoyance of the mangy street dogs, Perhaps this in one of the purposes of churches, temples and other places of worship. They all serve to allow man to enter the realm of his inner space, a place where the soul breathes and man meets himself on a spiritual plane.

I must have sat there in complete silence with my eyes closed for more than ten minutes. I lost myself in thought. I was reminded of Carmela's words about the birds and how astute was here perception.

Suddenly I was startled by a noise up where the pillars of the church lost themselves in the ceiling above the altar. It was a distinct chirping sound and I had to pause to discern if it was something I had actually heard or merely imagined.

From the very top of the church on a ledge beneath one of the open windows a bird had built a nest. It was a small bird with no distinct markings for the average layman to identify its species. Where had it come from? It flew around the sanctuary of the church and circled the altar. The just as quickly, it flew up towards the open window, perched itself for a few seconds on the ledge and flew out into the open sky.


Home