A couple mornings ago I was alone in the house, lying on the futon in my dwelling space (I don't really have a room right now) reading a book ("Black House" if you really want to know, which I found at a used book store a few weeks earlier for fifty cents). In the room directly upstairs I heard a
thumpthumpbumpbumpthump!
I wonder what that could be? I asked myself, but was in no mood to investigate because I just had to find out what happened next in the book I was reading. So I stayed where I was. About five minutes later I heard
thumpthumpbumpbumpthump!
I didn't move and kept on reading, curious about what the thumping was, but not enough to go see. I was really into this book.
thumpthumpbumpbumpthump!
thumpthumpbumpbumpthump!
The same thumping sound kept on going for about an hour, but I was too engrossed in my book. Did I mention that this book is a supernatural thriller, and I was at a particularly scary part? The manly side of me wants to say that I was able to disconnect the scary story I was reading from the thumping I was hearing upstairs in a house I knew was empty. But the manly side of me is a chump. I was starting to get nervous.
thumpthumpbumpbumpthump!
thumpthumpbumpbumpthump!
. . .
thumpthumpbumpbumpthump!
The sound kept coming in about five minute intervals. What was that mysterious thumping noise? At last I got up, went upstairs and looked around. Nothing was out of place. Just as I thought, I was alone. I slowly walked to the glass door at the end of the kitchen and looked outside. My nose was only an inch away from the glass. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Just then a robin dashed and swooped down from above and hammered its little head into the glass in front of my face. Right at eye level.
thumpthumpbumpbumpthump!
I jumped back, more startled than I ever have been before in my life. I must have also scared the poor little robin, too, because afterwards he never came back to make the thumping noise. So far this is my life's closesed experience to this infamous poem:
Good thing this bird didn't talk to me. And my voice doesn't sound like Christopher Walken's.
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2 comments:
Quoth the robin, "Open this door!"
Just wait until a woodpecker decides to sharpen his skills on your chimney some day. You'll think jackhammer at first (I did). Or maybe machine gun because he's hammering on metal and it's reverberating down the chimney. But you can't blame the poor things. Too many Darwinian cycles of brain rattling can't lead to much brain behind the beak.
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