I don’t know how to keep this bird from beating himself to death on my front window.

I’ve closed the curtains, gone out there to scare him away, tapped from the inside, yelled from the outside. It does no good. He seems determined to come in, despite two days worth of what must be terrible headaches indicating otherwise.

From where I sit, it’s an almost constant “tap-tap. tap. tap-tap-tap” like there’s someone indecisive at the door. Someone who’s not sure they want in, not sure they’re at the right house, not sure who they are. At least the dogs across the road bark decisively at me when I go to get the morning paper — then when I get it and turn around, they give one last bark, puff up and strut back home, certain they’ve once again saved the ranch from pillage by an intruder.

This bird, though… I don’t know his mind, if he has one. Maybe with the cool, rainy weather lately, he senses winter coming on and believes my house is his best option for toughing it out. Too lazy or unskilled to build a nest, he wants to borrow mine. Maybe he wants to go south, and the house is in his way. (That option would mean he’s both vertically and horizontally challenged, since he could easily fly above or around it if he tried. But I’ve seen stupider creatures.)

At some point, like fall, I know he’ll be gone. Winter will be upon us both. He will have either found his place, or gone to tap on some other glass. Maybe someone will let him in.

If they do, I don’t think he’ll like it. He strikes me as an outdoor bird who just wants a taste of the indoors now and then. He’d miss his freedom and pretty soon, he’d be flying up against that glass from the other side, tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap until someone got annoyed enough to let him out.

There are some lessons there. I’m going to work on them while the fog slowly burns away.