Best Monday Ever
Everyone hates Monday.
It’s a flashing signal warning us to get back on the school bus or to grab the broom or to log on at the office. There are chores to complete and deadlines to meet.
Fun finished for now.
So imagine my shock when I answered the phone at 11 am this past Monday and our neighbor Beth asked, “Do you know Percy is at your front gate?”
Percival is the peacock who wandered into our town a year ago. Various interpretations about his arrival exist, but I go with the one that believes he escaped an area farm.
Then he followed the river and climbed up the embankment and through the woods to a secluded part of our town. Neighbors contacted a peacock expert about how to properly help him. At dusk he roosts in his preferred tree. He survives winter, despite refusing shelter offered in a nearby shed.
He’s a wild creature, after all.
Periodically he ambles away from his chosen paradise a block north of us and surveys the town. Percy spent a lot of time this spring calling for a sweetheart who doesn’t exist.
When Beth looked out her window and spotted him in her flowers, she started taking pictures. When he strutted to our gate, she called me. I rushed outside as he peeked through our pickets. When he ambled toward the curb, I told Beth I was hanging up. She came out, too.
We live on a street where people ignore the speed limit signs. Percy clearly wanted to head north–like any of us who appreciate an adventure’s limits and know when to return to our branch.
Wild or not.
I stepped into the street, believing traffic could see me, at least, if they missed the beautiful bird close to the pavement. Beth stopped the approaching mail truck from the west. I hoped no one roared up from the east, leaving his blue feathers and my curls crushed into the pavement.
Percy looked at me, craning his majestic neck. He’s seen me pass by with our dog Maria before and heard me remark on his impressively fanned tail feathers.
Can a peacock remember a face? The sound of a voice?
I didn’t want him to run toward danger, so I talked to him, calling him like a dog. “Come on, Percy. Let’s go. This way. Come on.” I stepped north, sweeping my hand forward. He followed. Step by step we eased ahead. He’d hesitate and look up at me. I’d smile and say his name softly.
He could have run away; he’s fast. He could have charged me; he’s strong.
He’s a wild creature, after all.
But he walked beside me until we reached the curb. Safely.
Beth and I returned to our homes and later she said, “That was the picture I should have taken. You and Percy in the street together.”
I told her we were living the moment. “What other two neighbors in America have helped a peacock cross the road today?”
None, I suspect.
Beth and Percy and I, along with that amazed mail carrier, shared a bit of magic.
On a Monday, of all days.
