Pompano Beach Blackbird Song
Wednesday morning July 20, 2011, came as a gift. While the rest of the US literally sweltered in a murderous heat wave, our Pompano Beach early morning was crystal clear with a light sea breeze, perfect for my daily three-mile roundtrip walk to the Hillsboro Lighthouse Inlet Park.
It was a special morning, the anniversary of the birthday of my beloved late husband, Martijn, who had died exactly three-years earlier surrounded by friends and family in his native town, Maastricht, the Netherlands, far from this sultry sub-tropical city I now call home.
But we had both always intended that Pompano Beach would be our home, staying year after year from our honeymoon through 13 anniversaries at our beloved Light House Cove. Martijn found this corner of the world simply perfect and for the most part, so do I, now a resident for just over a year.
A prime benefit of living directly off the 14th Street Causeway is the miracle of walking straight to the beach and ultimately to the fishing pier at the Hillsboro Inlet, strolling through verdant neighborhoods along the intercoastal and then to the sea.
As a regular walker I now know and greet the other ‘regulars’ – runners, cyclists, dog walkers and other strollers – content to take in the natural beauty of this almost secret pocket of South Florida, with it’s unspoiled stretch of natural beach and dense landscaping. Those of us savvy enough not to plug into headphones get to hear nature’s sounds along the way, from cheeps to peeps to jeeps.
So, when I arrived at the Inlet pier without another soul in sight except a lone fisherman, I soaked in the welcomed solitude, thinking about how my late husband assured me that if he could, he would always manifest as a black bird, letting me know I was never truly alone.
Imagine, then, when a solitary black bird flew into my solitude, perching a few feet from my nose on the railing of the pier. This proud-feathered friend was most likely a Boat-tailed Grackle who is a permanent resident of our southeastern coasts, preferring coastal saltwater marshes and here in Florida, also inland waters. My iridescent black Grackle messenger came unusually close this special morning, and in a rare display he threw back his head, puffed out his chest and jeeped what I imagined was a heavenly birthday song! Within a minute his partner joined for a riotous chorus. Like Paul McCartney once sang, “Black birds singing….”
–The End –
