Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Living in Captivity

Perhaps you've heard we got Zebra Finches? A pair of them, a nest made of woven raffia, and two dowels for them to perch on and on which they perch and look at us askance through their black, sesame-seed-sized eyes.

Because they chirp so gaily and preen, I attribute personalities to them. The male, Atticus, is a tireless Cassanova. All day long he sings of pleasures. Cheep, cheep, cheep. The female, Finchessa, is no fool; I can tell you this because she slept in the seed feeder, as you or I would nap in a creme brûlée. Wouldn't you, if you could?

Of course, they are in an untenable situation - in a cage, in my kitchen - but like so many pets before them, they are rolling with it with pluck and aplomb. In fact, they (well, Atticus) is singing a courtship song to Finchessa that is all tenor warble.

We're all living in captivity aren't we? Yet, as Oscar Wilde says, some of us are looking at the stars.

1 comment:

  1. Hi Elizabeth, I loved your Anne Carson essay. Also I had a family of six zebra finches during college. They were named after quarks. Their morning mating calls are the best! And yes, I too, would nap in a creme brulee. Nice meeting you via Twitter. Anita

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