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.