Cardinals 

Written by Leann Thornley 

Cardinals. 

A rather royal and prominent bird. They’re known for their striking scarlet red mane, majestic coo, and the elegance in which they soar. Representative of luck, life, loving devotion, loyalty, and harmony. Quiet birds, they are, sitting upon thin oak branches observing the hundreds of dried cranberries among the leaves. Basking in warm sunlight, allowing a slight breeze to wash through their feathers. Carefully selecting a specified signal for their lover. Cardinals prefer to travel in pairs, oftentimes with their partner, parading love and loyalty wherever they fly. 

I sat on the old cloth coffee-colored couch gazing out the gigantic window of my back door, taking in the three old apple trees resting behind my patio. The stonework below them is covered in moss and crab apples, and whenever my younger brother would try to eat one, Mom would pull him inside and tell him not to eat strange objects. To which he argued, “But Mom! It’s just an apple!” 

The cardinals usually came around 4 o’clock. So there I sat, at 3:30, waiting patiently for my cardinals to swoop in and dance in the sunlight. The sound of crackling oil became more prominent, and the smell of mushrooms and white wine meandered through my living room. Beef Stroganoff. My favorite dish my father makes, in fact, I know he’s in the kitchen because I can hear his flighty whistling, an off-key tune of the Charlie Brown theme song - his favorite cartoon. 

My young eyes widen as I see two beautiful cardinals land on the strongest branch of the second apple tree. Light bouncing off of their crimson feathers, black mask-like figures around their eyes, and a soft hum of a melody they created to proclaim their love. They sat by each other in tranquility. Taking in every detail of the Earth. Deep in my heart, I’d hoped they saw me looking through the window. Mom always told us not to be too loud around the cardinals, or they’d fly away. So I sat with baited breath, trying not to move a muscle. 

I could hear my dad’s laugh suddenly closer to me, as I felt his breath by my ear. 

“That’s great grandma and grandpa you know?” he spoke softly. 

“But they passed away. And they weren’t birds.” I questioned him, eyes still glued on the creatures in my yard. 

“Yes, but when they died, they became cardinals. Now, they can still watch over you as a beautiful bird.” he whispered, and although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was smiling. 

“Do all of us become cardinals then? When we pass away?” I asked, turning my head toward his. 

His chocolate brown eyes looked at me with longing and love, the gap in his two front teeth on display from his big smile, smelling of raw beef and sauce. 

“I’d like to think so.” he responded, walking back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. 

Now when I look up to the sky, sinking into the grass and letting marshmallow-like clouds grasp me, I’ll search for cardinals. Searching for loyalty, love, and devotion for those who are no longer here. And when I see a cardinal sitting on my window sill of my new home singing its wondrous harmony, I know Dad’s watching me through the lovely eyes of the cardinal. 

And hopefully, in some 60 odd years, I’ll be one too.