Dec. 2

ONE-LEGGED PEACOCK SOMEHOW STRIVES AND THRIVES

By Diana L. Chapman

“Mom!” my son shouted. “Come here! There’s a one-legged peacock in our yard.”

My first instinct: That can’t possibly be. It’s probably just perched in the Monterey pine with its leg tucked under like a flamingo. It couldn’t  survive with just one leg.

“Come on, Mom!” Ryan shouted again. “You’re going to miss it!”

Muttering all the way, when I reached the back door I was astounded to see the royal blue male peacock standing like a king in his roost, peering disdainfully at us. He had the pride and plumage of an emperor, feathers of teal, liquid gold, emerald green and glittering bronze.

There was no mistaking the stump. The bird had half a leg – a glaring, bone-white half a leg. For a few moments, we watched in silence.

“How can he move anywhere? How can he feed himself?” I wondered out loud, knowing that Ryan didn’t know the answer anymore than I. The world is full of impossibilities. We were magically watching one of them --a miracle in our own backyard as twilight lazily lowered her dusky veil around us.

 Maybe  he hops on that one leg, we contemplated.  Losing interest in glaring at us,  that’s exactly what the peacock did next: a half-flutter, half-hop to the next branch ending our encounter.

For days to come, I would think about that peacock. Each time I wandered in the backyard, the sweet scent of the outdoors gracing the air, that bird came to mind.

He was a survivor.

On this morning while watering, I think of him again while watching a baby lizard streak across the golden wall of our garage. The sun shines his rays down as water sprinkles the cool, wet grass and a gentle breeze saunters by. Glinting in the sun, an intricate spider web hanging from the pine pitches gently in the wind next to our swinging, ceramic squirrel hanging from our tree.

Right now, lots of things are bothering me: family issues, the usual concern about finances nipping at me like a dog at my heels, and the depression from seeing friends and foes alike laid off in this horrendous economy.

It’s in moments like this that my backyard gives me solace, peace – an escape from the irritating mites swirling in my brain. I watch the lizard and marvel at its beauty. I spot a new tendril of the creeping fig inching up the walls. I’ve been waiting more than a year for that. Trying to grasp the vine to study it, I’m surprised when it sticks to the wall like Velcro.

Bravo! Something is working.

Then my thoughts slip back to the peacock. How did this bird ever make it? Why isn’t he dead? It doesn’t have a crutch. It has to survive on one leg – and if you know peacocks at all, they are not the best fliers. They spend much of their time on the ground like wandering cats, only with wings.

My mind wanders again (here in the garden it doesn’t matter if I lose focus)  and I look at the statue of a cherub reading a book –and that starts me reflecting on angels and who they are and where they come from.

Perhaps they aren’t flying around up in the celestial heaven we so often imagine. They might really reside in that little dog who saved her owner’s life when she smelled a fire. Or the stranger who pulled someone from a wrecked car before it exploded, only to disappear in the mist before anyone could say thank you.

Maybe this peacock is yet another angel reminding me that, if he can not only survive but thrive on one leg, maybe I can learn to live and work with my troubles.