I don't think bluejays have a pretty call. It sounds like a rusty clothesline to me, the scrape scrape of a metal pulley. Every time I hear it, my brain goes, "oof, rusty clothesline. Ohh, or maybe bluejay."
That grating loud noise caught my attention when I walked into the kitchen this morning and I looked out my window to see what was up.
There was a cat perched on the fence, staring at a bluejay perched in the tree, who was screaming down at the cat. As I watched, the cat leapt at the tree, and began scaling the trunk. The bluejay's branch shook and waved in indignation, as the angry bird yelled and scolded. Above, another bluejay watched silently.
Then the cat looked into my window and saw me watching.
The jay saw the cat seeing me watching, and turned and saw me too.
And I had the strangest sensation that my watching strengthened the bluejay's resolve, while weakening the cat's.
The bluejay held its ground and screamed.
The cat let go, and stepped out of sight. The jay sang gladly to its friend, hopping up and down lightly.
The cat poked its head around the corner, spied the jay, then looked up, right into my eyes, and left.
Just a tiny moment, a little glimpse of an ordinary scene, but it felt weighty somehow.
With human rights being eroded just next door, I feel pretty helpless. They scream and shake, and all I can do is watch while the claws and jaws draw closer.
Sometimes, all we can do is witness.
But ... witnessing isn't nothing.
I see you.
I care.
I'm so angry on your behalf.
May our witness strengthen those who are vulnerable, and deter those who stalk and prowl.