Sometimes, I'm just using a bird (or birds) as part of the scenery. For example, one of my characters happens to look out a window and sees a robin on a redwood tree. Pretty basic; the robin means nothing, other than as a visual cue to the setting. Other times, I'm using the birds as a reflection of a character's state of mind. In the same story with our friend on the redwood tree, there's a scene when the protagonist is looking at a bunch of sandpipers scurrying to and fro on a beach. Their movements feel very unsettled, as are the character's thoughts at that point. Most frequently, the birds are part of a simile or metaphor. Raptors seem to be a favorite for this, as are various seabirds (and if they've got extensive migrations, then they seem to be even more desirable). For example, if someone looks at you like a falcon looks at a squirrel, that's some scary shit.
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| Turkey vultures at Pinnacles National Monument |
All this has me thinking about why I use birds so frequently. I'm no ornithologist and don't consider myself a bird fancier. I even find some wild birds incredibly annoying (baby scrub jays screaming at 5 am drives me absolutely bonkers). My theory is that birds are naturally fascinating to human beings. Sometimes, it almost seems as if they are more extreme versions of ourselves. How many myths and legends contain a bird character? Ravens and other corvids are some of the smartest animals around; they use tools, solve complex problems, and can imitate human speech.
Bird sounds fascinate us too. Psittacines imitate; some can even carry on simple conversations. Lyre birds and mockingbirds have some of the most complex repertoires in the animal kingdom. People in temperate and subarctic climes look forward to spring, when the songs of thousands of warblers, thrushes, sparrows, and finches return after a silent winter. Loons have driven some people to tears with their long and lonely calls (and "Pacific Loon" is the handle of this blog, incidentally). Though seasonally monogamous (not for life, as many believe), loons will continue to call for their mate if one of the pair does not return, the same repeated howl over and over. I remember being troubled for no reason I could see by the cries of mourning doves as a child.
Consider migration. The memory involved to be able to travel that distance and return to the same place year after year is astounding. We haven't even begun to understand the complexities of avian navigation. The lark you see at your southern feeder in March will likely be in Alaska or Nunavut by June. The arctic tern, whom we're enjoying here on the coast right now, is the master of this feat. Racing from pole to pole in its pursuit of eternal summer, an arctic tern will likely see more of the world in a year than you will in a lifetime.
I wonder if any other writers out there find themselves with similar habits. Maybe you use trees a lot. Or celestial bodies. What commonalities have you found in your own writing?
