Camera

This is a picture of a sparrow. The sparrow died ten years ago. Sparrows are the most ubiquitous of all birds and that's why I love them. I love things that are commonplace, things that are easily found, easily lost. Sparrows are not remarkable to look at and one cannot be distinguished from another. But I remember the sparrow from ten years ago so clearly that it seems like yesterday. The image represents its absence. And also, the infinitude of the heavens and the cosmos of which it is a part now. I remember the bird from ten years ago because of specific things. Actually, it would be nearer the truth to say that I remember one particular morning. It was a bright autumn morning, much like what you can see in the picture. I woke up and as I opened the window, bright sunshine came streaming in. As I busied myself, then, doing this and that, there came a sparrow at the window and began to chirp. It sat there, hopped a bit, kept chirping for about 2 minutes before taking to its wings. The heavy, white glare outside perhaps kept it from seeing me, sitting in my room in relative darkness. I looked at it intensely. I listened to the sounds it made. After it had flown, I forgot about it. However, the memory of it came back and for reasons unbeknownst to me, it kept coming back. It is unusual to remember such a thing ten years on. Especially because similar moments have superseded it innumerable times.

It is strange how the human mind works. In the endless, gushing stream of memory, certain experiences stick out like logs caught between stones in the inexorable currents of a fountain. It takes some time for a memory to form fully so that one can visit it, just like a negative film takes time to develop on a photographic plate. The sky this morning appears to be the photographic plate for the sparrow. And it will take some time to develop so that we see the bird again.