It’s late Autumn and the leaves have long since fallen. There is a man sitting high in a tree – waiting. He’s been waiting since before the dawn, with bow and arrow in hand. He is a witness to many things, none of which I know, save for just one: A small, flighty and friendly black capped chickadee appears and quickly, gently, moves from branch to branch, and finally – so very softly – lands on the man’s quiver… just like a little, “Hello”. The chickadee leaves the quiver for another branch, then returns to the quiver and stays for a long while, tilting his head this way and that, just like a chickadee will do. This visit is a wonderful surprise and is the biggest hunting story the man will tell that day.
This is a warm memory of a man I know, who retold this story many times. But I don’t know all of this memory. (Did he not tell it all? Or have I just forgotten?) Did his chickadee sit puffed up and cozy? I wonder, did he speak to his chickadee? And did it “Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!”? I wish I knew. I wish I could ask, but all I can do is wonder, because this memory belongs to my full of life brother-in-law who passed away far too soon.
My chickadee has just landed … or is ready to take flight. Like Tom’s memory, I don’t have all the facts. I created this piece in honor of a treasured memory. This here is… “Tom’s Chickadee”
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