A Secret Crush

I have a secret crush. I first laid eyes on the object of my affection a couple months ago, though s/he likely has crossed my path prior to that. As soon as I noticed her, I was entranced by her tidy chestnut cap, her cheek black instead of ruddy, her voice small and sweet, whispering from the brush along the trail.

It is secret because my beloved hails from the wrong side of the Atlantic; an outsider from far shores rather than one with roots here reaching back millennia. Perhaps I am attracted to the novelty, her forbidden nature. Perhaps I will weary of her when familiarity blunts the edge of emotion.

But now…now I go out of my way to visit the places I know she hangs out. I eagerly scan every branch, head cocked listening for her voice. When she isn’t there, I am disappointed, and when I see her face emerge from the shadows, nonchalantly checking me out before going on with her business, my heart skips a little beat and I stare like a goof until she flits away, out of sight. Utterly uninterested in me beyond ascertaining that I am not a threat.

She is a Eurasian Tree Sparrow, an species introduced to the St. Louis area over a century past, whose range has been creeping further from that historical home in recent decades, finally reaching Johnson County within the past ten years. This species, unlike the House Sparrow–introduced to the US around the same time–is not quite as aggressive in displacing other birds trying to nest and has avoided much of the negative attention that the House Sparrow evokes.

More conventionally attractive birds may come into view: a majestic red-tailed hawk soaring overhead, or a charming, chattery chickadee frolicking in nearby branches. But my gaze always turns back to look for the sparrow.

I wish her the best, and hope she and her family settle in and become a well-integrated part of the neighborhood. Maybe one day she will appear in my backyard, along with or in place of the abundant, less alluring house sparrows. Until then, I will continue to admire her from afar, undeterred as she remains aloof.

Originally published on Sycamore Greenway Friends.