The Outpost

Looking up, their pillowed bellies balanced expertly on twigs against an endless backdrop of twinkling constellations.

Roo tugged at her leash, her attention closer to Earth level than mine, as she sniffed and pulled me forward.

But I kept looking up. After all these years in Nicaragua, I’d never seen Urracas sleeping.

In waking daylight, these beautiful blue magpies (sometimes called blue jays) are the gangsters of the sky. Unafraid, balls-y, territorial, and thieving.

They’ve swooped and stolen loaded nachos from unexpected, outstretched hands; hands occupied in a conversational gesture with humans, not as an invitation for the Urracas.

I’ve seen them peck furiously at the side mirrors of parked motorcycles until the mirror cracked. They’ve clawed and bitten at window screens, intent to destroy, enter, and probably destroy again once inside.

They’ve devoured unhatched eggs, sadly victimizing smaller species of birds. In an equally impressive and horrific display of teamwork, they have hunted, trapped, and eaten a live snake, which I suppose also makes them calculatingly murderous.

Unguarded fruit bowls, unaware prey, and human objects that annoy them are never safe.

But on this night, there was a peaceful beauty about the Urracas. Dreaming in leafless trees, they perched on the thinnest branches, quite low. Branches that extended furthest from the safe solid center of the trunk. Without the crook of a tree branch or the comfort of a nest, these regal birds seemed to me quite exposed.

There were about 4, no  . . .7, no . . . 9.  A pack of nine blue jays juxtaposed against the night sky. Silent and unmoving. In this unusual stillness, I admired their softness, gazing up as I passed under them.

At the ground level, Roo, oblivious to my thoughts and eager for her own encounters with nature, pulled me persistently forward.

I realized on some of the forked branches huddled only two or three magpies, while another lone blue jay slept set apart from the band. One jay in solitude while the others roosted snugly a branch or two away.

An outcast.

I wondered about this outcast, this lone bird off on her (or his) own branch without a cuddle buddy. Why had she been ostracized? Did her puffy feathers take up too much space, or did she chirp in her sleep?

Thinking about the solo Urraca, I wondered about her (or his) aloneness as Roo rounded us past dark bushes.

Why do my thoughts default to assuming the lone bird had something wrong with her, as if she (or he) was unaccepted or disliked in some way?

Why wasn’t my first thought, “You lucky bird! You have the whole branch to yourself!”

It might take a beat, or it might take being pulled by Roo in a direction I hadn’t mapped out, but these extra minutes dwelling on the sole Urraca nudged my perspective in a new direction, too.  Maybe she wasn’t alone or cast out of the party.

Perhaps she was happy, snoozing apart from the other blues, perfectly peaceful.

Or, maybe she wasn’t an outcast at all. Perhaps she was the outpost.

Perhaps she was the chosen guardian, lightly dozing, while her flock dreamed deeply nearby.

Roo led me towards the woods, as she does every night, and we left the Urracas to their peaceful slumber.

These handsome birds.  How soothing it must be to have a member of your flock looking out for you while you sleep.

What a comforting shift of my perspective: to move away from feeling concerned for a solo outcast Urraca to a place of respectful admiration. A place where I understood the lone blue jay could be protecting her own.

Couldn’t we all lean on an outpost sometimes? To sleep peacefully, assured that someone in our flock was looking out for us?

By outpost, I don’t just mean someone keeping guard, although that comes into play too.

Some of us have laser beam alarm systems and night vision security cameras.  Some of us have toothy German Shepherds, or double-barrel shotguns cocked under the bed. Maybe some of us have all of the above.

For the record, I have none of the security measures I described.  I don’t feel unsafe living in Nicaragua, not at all. My three-legged pup Roo and my tuxedo kitty Tino are tasked with protecting the house every time I leave. For me, that’s security enough around here.

An outpost makes sure we are safe but also lets us dream. An outpost is what clears the crowd, so we can land on that most outstretched branch, perch where we choose, cuddle with our buddy, and dream.

An outpost gives way to these precious things.  These quiet, close connections in the dark, no matter how precarious the branch, no matter how exposed we may be to the night shadows.

The outpost protects us just as much as she (or he) enables our dreams to take flight in the night.

As Roo and I wandered into the nearby woods, I knew that by morning, the Urracas would carry on in the behaviour as is their nature.  They would not leave me or my neighbours to our peace. They know my kitchen has fruit in bowls and easy access to cat and dog food. They know that once they’re, in it’s all theirs for the taking.

Squawking and stalking and swooping, and beautifully so, these birds will eye me through my annoying glass door, through my tempting screens.

I will eye them right back.

But also, I will remember the lone Urraca, perched in dutiful solitude, and feel a little human kindness towards her (or him). In sleep, there is a sweetness about these gangster birds.

Gregarious, aggressive, and thieving they may be, but within the confines of their flock, they seemed loyal and protective. They look out for each other.

Spending nights in peaceful slumber while nearby perches their outpost, opening the doors for what dreams may come.

I’ve never considered we may have such a Urracean outpost, but perhaps we do.

Perhaps we have hundreds. Outposts who are angels, disguised as clouds. Outposts in the form of family members who call. Outposts in the shape of friends or neighbors who check in.

The lone Urracas reign terror in their waking hours, it’s true. But in the night, they sleep peacefully in bare trees. Calm and dreaming, knowing that perched nearby is their Outpost.

~ Christy

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