Just now, a male cardinal flew to the top of the wrought iron shepherds crook that holds my bird feeder – the one with the internal gadget that closes when something too heavy sits on its sitter-ring-thing, making it – apparently – squirrel proof.

I believe it is called ‘The Squirrel Buster’, but ought to be called the ‘The Squirrel Entertainment Network’ because they cannot stop trying to figure it out, but are frustrated and drop to the ground every time. The crows, on the other hand, are indeed too heavy for the sitter-ring-thing BUT are big enough to hold on to the shepherd’s crook with their legs and lean over to the bird feeder to gorge themselves on dry corn and little seed. This is because crows are freaking geniuses and I’ll follow this with an exclamation point to make my… er… point!     

The visiting cardinal is not the super bright red that he will be again this winter, if he is a smart cardinal and doesn’t fly too close to our resident fox (foxes? foxen?). In fact, this particular cardinal is actually downright… dingy.

It’s as if he rolled in some mud, but is still red. I can’t know exactly what this bird is thinking, but – honestly –  he seems a little full of himself (I’m good at bird body language). I sense that he is certain that he looks a bit like Tom Cruise after the volleyball game in Top Gun (the first one (but also could be the second one as Tom Cruise has kept himself in pretty good shape)). This particular cardinal seems to think that, though he is a bit grimy and sweaty, he’ll just take a quick shower and be all glorious and bright again (and probably make any potential mate named Kelly McGillis swoon).

Because, obviously (and according to me), this is how cardinals think.

He will not.

Meaning he will not brighten and redden up after a dip in my birdbath.

No matter how much ‘Riding Hood Red’ Rust-Oleum or bird Rogaine he can lay his wings on, as we head into early fall, this bird is going to start molting. And, even when he grows his bright red feathers back, some are going to be grey-ish tipped (he will be a George Clooney cardinal for a bit). But then those tipped feathers will go away and then, KAPOW!, he’ll be all bright red in late winter and early spring (when he’s trying to woo the ladies).

All of this whips (wHips) through my brain, and makes me think…

We all cycle through such phases.

From bright red and ready to take on the world (or at least acknowledge a few female cardinals)…

To some level of ‘medium’, where we kind of want to head out there, but the muddyness of the moment (and our brains) has us instead considering our comfy sofa, popcorn (buttered), and the latest true crime Netflix doc…

To pretty dang good but with a few fluffs of grey that need shedding…

And around to bright red all over again.

These cycles can all happen over weeks or months or years… or in a single afternoon.

Each element doesn’t even need to happen in any particular order.

But here’s the thing.

When that cardinal showed up at my feeder just a few minutes back. I stopped what I was doing and marveled at the fact that there was a cardinal on my feeder.

Didn’t matter to me if he was a bit ‘muddy’.

Wouldn’t have mattered to me if he was mid-molt, letting his freak flag fly with just three feathers clinging to his head.

Same bird.

Same absolutely beautiful bird.

Some believe cardinals represent visits and/or guidance from loved ones who have moved on from this world and, when I searched for more information on this, no results said anything about the fact that they have to be strikingly red to do their job.

I lost a friend earlier this summer.

She was sick for a long time, then not, then sick again.

The medications were tough, and she said she’d often felt puffy and moody and not beautiful.

She’d used an old photograph as her Facebook profile picture for years – from back when her hair was long, and shiny and brown… her smile wide and fixed and forever young.

One day she decided to believe me, and another person, and tens and dozens and maybe a hundred others I didn’t know who were saying the same thing.

Size and puffy didn’t matter.

Nearly pure white hair didn’t matter.

Mixed emotions and moods and fears and loves and, well…

Same person.

Same absolutely beautiful person.

I actually called her ‘Beautiful Lady’, each time we talked – in person, via screens. She will always be that.

This cardinal reminds me that we all cycle through the bright reds and muddys and nearly-theres. And sometimes we fear those around us won’t understand, will judge or somehow think less of us when we aren’t in full, regal feather… or are older or fatter or grayer… or are sick.

But our friends – true friends – do not just see us from the outside-in.

They accept us, instead, from the inside-out.

To be such a friend is to be a giver of a gift that would humble any material present.

To be the receiver of such a gift is nothing short of aspirational.

The cardinal just flew off (it really did… it has been here the entire time I’ve been typing). Maybe it spotted something that I can’t see… its mate in the distance, or our roguish fox.

Or maybe it finished its message, one just for me.

I think I got it, and am smiling big time (nope, not sharing it with you… at least not yet).

Thanks, you gorgeous small and muddy bird.

And fly free Beautiful Lady.

❤️

Thanks for readin’.

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