The other day, city workers came and cut down an old elm tree on the street where I live. It had died. How empty the street looks now. One less elm tree to beautify the street, to purify the air, to shelter birds.
This incident reminded me of another time and another elm tree. Once, on a lot next to my home where a building stands now, maple trees grew like weeds. The lush green branches of one reached up to my bedroom window. In thoughtful moments, I`d lean against the window sill, my arms folded, gazing into the stillness of the trees.
During one of those moments at the window, I became aware of something yellow flashing by. My eyes searched the ground, and there I saw a large bird, larger than a robin, with a red crescent on the back of its head and a yellow- tipped tail. Later, thumbing through my bird book, I identified it as a yellow-shafted flicker, a kind of woodpecker.
Another day, a small bird appeared on one of the branches nearest my window, so near that I could see its yellow crown spot, black face mask, heavily striped breast, bluish/grey back-all in one little bird smaller than a sparrow, the myrtle warbler.
”How marvelous is God`s work!” I exulted. I was drawn to the window often, hoping to discover other species. And I did: Eight kinds of warblers in time made their way to the branch near my window. A bluebird and a bluejay stopped to rest on the outside sill.
Soon I began to recognize their sounds as well: the meow of the catbird, the ”oo-oh-oooh” of the mourning dove and the musical whistle of the cardinal.
Every summer there are new wonders to discover. Pity. Most people are so busy rushing through their daily lives that they don`t take the time to stop and consider the wonders of nature.
One early autumn day in the year of my window-gazing, men and machinery came to clear the land next door for construction of a building. Little did they know (or care, apparently) that there among the rubble, rubbish and wild growth, lay a natural habitat for families of birds, and a stopping place for many on their way somewhere.
I ran out to stop these men and their machinery. The builder was standing nearby. ”Please!” I pleaded, ”Save at least one tree for the birds. Surely you can spare this tree.” I pointed to an old elm in a far corner of the lot. He said he was sorry, but the tree would interfere with his building. And he asked, ”Don`t you believe in progress?”
For three days the workers sawed, chopped and ground the trees. I looked on sadly as each one fell. The majestic elm was the last to go-but not without a struggle.
On the morning after the land was cleared, I went out to survey the destruction. A flock of birds flew over the site where the trees had stood. I looked on sadly as they circled. Suddenly their special place was gone-all in the name of progress.
These days I feast only on the scarlet presence of the cardinal. How can I persuade him to stay?
