This summer, I became fond of a particular kind of birds that walk in a very particular way. I don’t know the name of this bird kind. But every morning when I took a walk around my block, I found a few of them on the way, walking in somebody’s front garden.
There was something special about the way they walked. They would walk a few steps, then stop and listen. Their heads were held high all the time, and always slightly looking upward. Sometimes, they called. When they did, the sound would remind me of autumn even in the midst of summer.
On weekends, when I went to the Experimental Farm to sit under my dear friend Walnut tree and write my diary, I would find a few of them walking under the tree. Again, they would walk a few steps, then stop and listen. Under the roof of the walnut tree, I loved to listen to the sound of the wind, of the leaves, of the insects, of the squirrels, and of the passing time with this bird. Walk, stop and listen. Walk, stop and listen.
As the autumn deepens, I wonder where they have gone. Are they busy preparing for the winter like many other birds? I don’t know. But when the winter arrives, I shall be remembering their walk on the grass as I watch the white ground and listen to the stillness.
