Even an atheist knows the Easter story. Some people believe. Some do not. Angelkeep absolutely believes. This column appearing just a few days prior to Easter is not about resurrection. If you desire that story Angelkeep highly recommends attending a worship service on tomorrow’s Good Friday followed by Easter Sunday.
In Sunday school and Bible reading, Angelkeep learned the Easter story of death conquered. It’s miraculous indeed. Modern day recoveries from what medical science determined as death have been turned into best-sellers. 2022’s Easter emphasis on life after death seems at Angelkeep to be as vital now as it was in the first century.
A recent event at Angelkeep brought the Easter season of resurrection into keen focus. It is shallowly insignificant compared to the Christ figure and events, yet it gave this home a visual awareness of the hope that can be extracted through faith.
Angelkeep’s event began with a loud thud. Unfortunately it was just one of a recurring activity that cannot be eliminated. Angelkeep feeds birds via half a dozen feeders just off the patio, which has a wall of windows between it and the home’s inside. They reflect the pond and trees on the opposite side of the feeders. Birds see the reflection. Some believe it to be a safe direction of flight, and… BAM!
Angelkeep learned that a bird flying into the window had a 75 percent chance of survival rate after the impact, depending on the velocity at impact. Cardinals seemed the primary kamikaze bird of Angelkeep. Their survival rate ran slightly lower than the average.
Although written as a joke, Angelkeep pondered the reality of the question, “Why does a bird fly into the reflection on a glass window when they can see another bird flying directly at their head? Why do they not turn away before the head-to-head impact?”
The pre-Easter bash against the glass caused a scurry to the window to see if the bird survived the abrupt halt of flight. A cardinal laid on its side, gasping breath after breath, its heart probably pounding 10 times with each breath. It didn’t look too good for this redbird, or firebird as Gene Stratton Porter used to call them in one book. Gene’s first of 26 books, and yet in print, called “The Song of the Cardinal,” 1903, was about a cardinal family living along the Wabash River.
A decision immediately made for an attempt to resuscitate the Angelkeep cardinal would not need mouth-to-mouth, nor heart stimulation. One additional threat to the bird struggling to recover its equilibrium came in the form of roving neighborhood cats who frequently passed over the patio. Some cats have been observed stealthily hiding behind potted plants before springing forward toward ground-feeding birds. Cats can even spring into the air to capture a bird lunch from one of the feeders. The stunned Angelkeep cardinal had zero chance if a cat suddenly appeared. Neither foot scamper nor flight was as yet possible for this cardinal.
Using a facial tissue as a protective barrier for the bird, it was picked up and examined carefully. There was hardly any difference between the look of a cardinal’s eyes from a death-defying crash and their fear of a large human. It was verbally assured its human holder meant no further harm, although Angelkeep has no command what-so-ever of the cardinalese language.
The cardinal was moved to the protection of a large whiskey barrel planter. Placing it along the side of the planter helped hide it from predators who walked on the patio cement, at least those too short to see into the top of the barrel, such as cats. The wood of the barrel extended three inches above the soil, thus providing a wall to lean the cardinal against while placing it on the soil with its feet downward. Angelkeep rationalized that a vertical position would help orient the bird back to normalcy if that was indeed possible. It faced away from the terrible crash site of moments earlier. Prayer.
A check one hour later found the cardinal gone. Presumably it survived and flew in the correct direction, not repeating the near-fatal window hazard. It rose upward to renewed life. Hallelujah. The cardinal had risen. What a beautiful parody of Christ’s resurrection. He has risen indeed.
Mr. Daugherty is a Wells County resident who, along with his wife Gwen, enjoy their backyard and have named it “Angelkeep.”
