soprano syndrome
We moved office recently at my job, from a quaint brick office in a historical building in the centre of Brussels, to a grand old warehouse by the canal slightly further out.
Now, with the added privilege of water watching all day long, from rowers sweating through their workout to the bicycle highway running alongside the waterway, since day one, we’ve had these two geese on the other side of it.
Every single day, I see this gaggle, prancing around, with no care in the world, wondering who they are: lovers, siblings, friends? All I know is, day in, day out, they’re at each other’s side, running up and down the roadside. I found them so lovely, making up stories in my head, the love and loyalty they have for one another, what they could be looking for. Yet in my head it was clear what they were seeking, they already had: one another’s company.
It’s funny how circumstances change your perspective on things. After experiencing loss a few weeks later, my musings about these two waterfowl turned from admiration and gentle gazing to sorrow, and, for shame, almost envy. Just quacking around, not a care in the world, but to spend time with one another.
This week, a fledgling pigeon fell out of its nest in my yard. I could see the parent coming in and out of my overgrown ivy, and figured that perhaps I could leave them to it: building a home and enjoying a bit of peace and quiet, right in the city centre. But then, the offspring came and fell out of its nest, way before its time was due.
I can always turn to the internet for answers to what I should do, and it was categorical: leave it be. If you see the parents around feeding it, it’s just nature running its course. To see the parent coming down to the ground, miming to its progeny how to take flight, I was hopeful., miming to its progeny how to take flight, I was hopeful. But visibly, after a few days of attempted wing stretching and struggling, our little guy wasn’t going to make it much longer. Flies were assailing him, and as I had spent hours looking at him through the window bay, I could see the resignation in our little guy’s eyes, just left motionless, only to fend the death flies away with a shake every so often.
“For Christ’s sake, Tony,” I cried, as I saw his frail decaying body give up, ready to put to rest what he could no longer mend. “I shouldn’t be crying for a pigeon,” I thought to myself, but once again, circumstances helping, the anxiety ran through me, and I found myself absorbing one grief into another, hoping I could’ve done something, but having to accept that things don’t always go your way.
“It was just a trip having those wild creatures come into my pool and have their little babies... that was sad to see.” James Gandolfini - The Sopranos