the forgetful song thrush
the other day when i went into riverside park, i was greeted by the chirrup of a song thrush from a grove. walking towards the sound i saw the thrush hopping about in a flower bed. i looked carefully trying to spot a tiny piece of string that should have been fastened to its leg, but in vain. ah, it must have escaped from its cage. it was a free bird! one moment it jumped onto a rose spray and sang with its head high, the next it plunged into the grass and looked at me with its tail waving up and down. its proud and self-satisfied manner was really enchanting.
not far from the bird on the grass was a bird cage. it was made of painted bamboo strips and looked neat and clean. on top of the cage stood a big gleaming metal hook. from the cage-door hung a fiery red tassel, which added to the magnificence of the cage. as birdhouses go, this was certainly a luxurious residence.
an old man was dozing under a nearby hibiscus tree. he seemed to be the owner of the cage. hearing my approaching steps he opened his eyes. i began the dialogue.
"hello. you bird has got out."
"yeah. let it go for a stroll."
"aren't you afraid it might fly away?"
the old man cast a glance at me and gave an uncaring smile.
"fly away? but why should it? it can't leave the food bowl."
examining the bowl carefully, i found nothing special about it. it was no more than a small fine china bowl with a plum design on the side. the bird food in it was some yellow grains which gave off the refreshing smell of wild grass. i thought it must be a mixture of soaked millet and the yolk of boiled eggs, perhaps with some condiments added to it. there was nothing special about it.
i told the old man what was on my mind, but he just shook his head and smiled at me without saying a word. i knew better than to keep on inquiring, for each has his own tricks in raising birds and such secrets must never be given away.
just at that moment i saw the carefree bird walk into the cage at a leisurely pace. seeing that his bird was re-encaged, the old man slid down the cage-door with a click. standing on the rim of the bowl complacently, the thrush had already begun to peck at its food. as i left the park, i turned over in my mind a recurring question—what was the magic in the food that had made this beautiful bird sing so happily but forget about its wings?