I look at the world with jaded eyes
often wondering: where is goodness
or sanity in humans with all our
hard mental constructions?
with so many hardened hearts?
I sip my tea and see the bird, plain and
brown and its stillness captures me.
It sits for minute after long minute
in one place, content, it seems, to be open and
vulnerable, not scanning, as I am,
for the dark shadows of crows.
I keep all of me trained on the bird, now it is
ruffling some feathers and bobbing its head, ready
to take flight? but no, it sits yet on the
coppery curve of a garden ornament.
The bird is breathing the same June
morning air as I breathe, both of
us still, with only me thinking, with only me
holding my breath, more than I want to.
Now the world has no bird,
yes, it has taken wing, and I am a
woman without a bird, steeped in
a fragile peace, softly sipping at life.