His name was One-Leg. A Red-Headed Cardinal who made our porch his home. I was five.
Every morning our family would sit at the table next to a small rock garden with a hammock. One-Leg would eventually flit onto our table, across the gravel and to our feet. He had no fear. His head jerked a random beat for discarded bread crumbs or a child's ort. He built his nest in the rafters so he could observe the day's potential horde. His song reserved for commanding what was delightfully his. Because he owned our porch.
I sit in our yard a mother of four with a leg reminiscent of his. My leg curled beneath me. A protection of what is vulnerable and weak. I don't know if mine will work again as it did before.
I wonder what caused One-Leg's limp. If it was a cat who fumbled his prey. Or a wire that caught his attention and kept a souvenir. But he didn't act like anything was wrong. He hopped. He chirped. He ruled our porch.
I am learning to rule my own. I try to dismiss what others may see as weak. To embrace my daily find. To search for what will make this world a one-legged golden mine. I visit the rafters in my head and look down at what is right. The hammock swings with my good leg, and gifts from people fill my soul. Because they live here now too. In a world in which a bird has learned to sing. To focus on her wings. Instead of what may seem so wrong. To find a song in what is right between the flight. A One-Leg cardinal's song.
As I learn to soar I take today to play my new favorite song by FarCry, I'm Wingin' It.
