There is screaming in my back yard.  The screams reverberate in tones of desperation, and there is a clear message.  DANGER HERE, BEWARE!   Oh my God!  I race to the window and look and look but see nothing.  The yard is empty; and now the quiet is eerie, frightening almost in its vacuum. There is nothing and my imagination makes me anxious.  What is going on?  What is happening?  Where is the danger? I fly from window to window in my worry.  Is one always drawn to the fire?

There he is.  I have spotted him. He isn’t even hiding in his arrogance.   I have seen him before when he trespassed. I think he tries to impress me with his good looks.  I can’t help it.  I am always drawn to him.  I am unable to take my eyes off him.  He looks at me and I watch him.  He is a dangerous one I know.  He has a reputation for killing, and I shudder to think of it.  Where does justice rest? 

My mind and emotions are in turmoil.  It is   like being in love with a man even when you know he’s no darned good.  Where is the law when you need it? This guy is just too handsome though, and I am soft hearted and weak willed.  I can’t take my eyes off him. I would be putty in his grasp. The cold fuels my compassion. My word it is cold!  It was fifteen degrees below zero at 6 AM.  Is he warm enough in that coat, I wonder?  Should I invite him in?  Sanity returns to my mind.  I am indignant.

This intruder has no right to have a killing orgy in my peaceful place!  I will not tolerate it.  There is a shotgun in the closet. I have never used it.  Could I use it?    It was my mother’s, and the stock is hand carved and hand rubbed and burnished in soft washes of umber. The wood has a soft luster and feels warm in my hands.  It is beautiful even with the threat it carries.

I hate him, this intruder. I hate that he even makes me think of violence. His face is dark in shadow, but I can see the cold killing piece of him in his eyes and manner. He is intimidating and sly.  He is clever, but clean and neatly dressed.  He is so handsome, and I stay by the window to watch his course and admire his beauty. He looks huge in this frigid cold with his down filled coat that is fluffed and adding inches to his substantial frame.  He hides his head in the warmth of his coat from time to time just as I do when I need the warmth of my breath to warm my cheeks and thaw my lungs. No, I must not humanize him.

All my feathered friends are gone, long gone.  They heard the alarm and passed the word.  I think sadly, however, that there is at least one in the neighborhood that will not make it home for lunch.  I look at the intruder and see those talons that, like fingers, easily grasp the branch of the Spruce. Those talons are huge and cruel, and he sits on that branch with an easy elegance pretending to be Royalty in all his finery. He watches me watching him, and it is a bit disarming for he knows me too well.  He knows that I could not harm him.  I return the shotgun to its proper place.

Well, my intruder owns that big Spruce.  He sits near the top of the tree.  He owns the tree and the neighborhood too if all the little creatures have been paying attention... He watches all and sees all.  Now, he is watching the bird feeder----- just like a hawk.

I wish he would leave even as I am drawn to him.  I am captivated and impervious to any danger for I cannot resist his allure.  What a beauty!   His feathers are layered in waves of red and tan and cream, but his breast is pale, nude colored and somehow hinting of an innocence that is not real. He is wearing a turtleneck of rich reddish plumage, and the fabric looks lustrous and soft and warm.  It is also fluffed in this cold air. His tail is long, square ended and substantial.  It is tan, or is it red?  It carries ribbons of cream and smudges of black. 

He is a piece of art, and I frame him in my mind.  I should frighten him away, but I think of the good he does with rodent control and hope that excuses him from my wrath.  I would love to make a pet of him if I could change his bad behavior.

I know though, that like a man, I can’t change him; I can’t train him.  So I stand here and drink my coffee wondering if the intruder would satisfy his appetite with an ounce of meat.  I am just betting that this guy is not so high minded that he would refuse a tender piece of steak.  What man could?

Logic assails my mind.  I realize that even that poor bribe would not be sufficient to change his bad behavior. Good manners start in kindergarten, and he and I are both too old.  But, I am watching him watch me, and we are a mutual admiration society.  That will be enough reward this cold.

Short story by Louise Nomani   
© Jan. 2007

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