The Magpies Are All Right

At the time of writing, the magnolia part of spring is here, daphne scented with intermittent rain to remind us that winter clings on a little longer. 

 A magpie builds its nest on our flat tin roof. I see it on the power line out the window, twig in beak, or right on the ledge, observing my petty vacuuming. Its patter of claws like metal tacks clacking above me with rhythm and purpose.

When we first moved here from our old cottage near Alexandra parade the presence and variety of birds was immediately felt. We used to listen to a bit of Russell Torrance in the mornings for coffee time, but here, the birdsong felt like enough.

At night, that first winter I’d lie in bed, and to my surprise after midnight a magpie would start singing. Well before dawn and long after sunset, its warble alarmingly out of sync with what I perceived to be the natural order of things. It happened three or four nights in a row and caused me to ruminate. Was the bird dream singing? Then a more sinister thought crossed my mind. Was it confused because of too much artificial light? I began to think about how I’d heard of birds getting lost during migration from all the satellites. Was something like this the case with maggie outside? I was spiraling in the dark. Determined to “save the birds!” I did some searching so as to arm myself with facts for an email to my local representative in which I was going to politely demand that I-don’t-know-what-but-something-must-be-done to help the birds.

But here’s the thing I learned: it’s natural. It’s always been so. Magpies sing at night during winter as part of their mating ritual. 

I almost laughed. Actually it’s fine. Why is my first instinct conditioned towards disaster?

Now I try and let this relief spill out into other parts of my life. Maybe my first instinct doesn’t have to be to worry about something. It’s possible when something in my world looks broken it’s actually just my perspective. 

The magpies are ok and maybe I am too.