This has happened before. Years ago a cardinal spent the better part of the spring and summer attacking her own reflection in my car's mirror, eager to expel the interloping bird she saw in there. This one is different, though: she attacks just one particular spot on the front window, over and over again, at unpredictable moments all day long.
Why pick that one spot? When the light's right the entire window works like a mirror, but the bird restricts her attacks to an area about midway up one side pane. So my husband drew a rudimentary face on a piece of paper towel and taped it to that spot, thinking the bird would be spooked by the face. (Frankly, if I saw that disembodied face coming at me out of nowhere, I'd be spooked.) But no: not to be deterred, the bird now attacks the paper-towel face.
The bird perches on a pile of wood on the porch and then suddenly flings herself at the window, sometimes sending bits of feather flying. She leaves some smudges but doesn't harm the window, but I can't imagine that all that window-banging is doing her any good. She ought to be out tending a nest or laying eggs or whatever cardinals are supposed to be doing right now, not banging her head repeatedly against an unyielding window. What's her problem?
I could ask myself the same question. How often do I end up banging my head against an unyielding problem, attacking an illusion over and over again while I ought to be out getting stuff done? This week I've been annoyed with a colleague--never mind why--over a problem that isn't going to get any better regardless of how many times I bang my head against it, and yet there I go again. Flutter bang clatter! What a waste of time.
I need to remind myself of the cardinal rule of adulting: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results is the definition of insanity. And so I walk away from the window, wave goodbye to that spooky fake face, and get on with more important tasks.
I only hope the cardinal can learn the same lesson.
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