A Morning with the Sparrows

The sparrows were out this morning, snapping at each other, some flying across the patio looking for something to eat. I join them for breakfast most weekday mornings at Starbucks. I pinch off a small piece of my bagel making sure not to include the cream cheese. (I'm not sure what cream cheese will do to the digestive system of a sparrow.) I like to flick a crumb-sized portion of an Albertson's raisin and cinnamon bagel among the birds and watch them fight each other for it.

Only the swift will win. Once a crumb-bagel hits the ground, a sparrow swoops down and grabs the morsel in its mouth and quickly takes flight to a nearby tree branch to enjoy breakfast without the company of its friends. Rude bird. Selfish twit.

I glance to my left and see the Chevron station serving breakfast gas to a covey of hungry cars. This intersection in Henderson must be one of the busiest in the Las Vegas valley. Hundreds of cars speed by my observation post on the patio located high above the scene. Workers are preparing the landscape around the station, hauling dirt and planting trees. The sparrows nearby seem to take notice. They turn their heads to glance at the workers and then just as quickly turn back towards me and look for more bagel crumbs.

To my right is the Texaco station across the street to the north. A huge American flag is waving from its pole. I see a bike rider scampering along the sidewalk, peddling fast. His backpack is heavy. Perhaps he's a student with a load of books. Steam from the street is rising in curly rhythms like clear sheets of velvet causing the bike rider to look warped and otherworldly. I swipe my forehead and collect a bead of sweat as I notice how hot it is.

A branch of the Colonial Bank is directly in front of my outpost about 200 yards away. I read the neon sign flashing above it: "Safe, Sound, Secure. You'll Like It Here." I smile at the irony of such a message appearing in a city like Las Vegas. Just beyond the sign, on the horizon in the far distance, I see the Strip with the tall Stratosphere tower reaching upward into the hazy summer sky. The famous skyline of the entertainment district on Las Vegas Blvd. is stretched out before me and I wonder about the winners and losers who are still sleeping away their deeds from the night before. Safe, sound, and secure.

This Starbucks has a fountain on the patio that's not running this morning. Perhaps it's too hot. What little breeze I feel upon my face feels like it's coming from a hair dryer. The heat surrounds me, covers me, engulfs me, and I wonder if bagels feel this way while baking. The patio is like an oven and those of us sitting out here are like loaves of bread. A business man wearing a suit has taken off his jacket revealing a starched white shirt so bright that it blinds me to look at him. Two women in shorts are having a spirited conversation and don't seem a bit worried about a potential heat stroke.

As for me and the sparrows? I'm listening to Joe Cocker on my iPod and the birds are staring at me, pleading with me with small dark eyes, to toss them more bagel crumbs. Cocker sings, "there's a time to reap/a time to sow/ for holdin' on/ for lettin' go/ sometimes doing what is right is lettin' go."