Saturday, April 7, 2012

The Birds



At 16 miles-per-hour, the wind still doesn't feel so strong. Instead, it feels soothing--it brushes past me, it moves through me. I stand still to enjoy it. The sun is untouchable today, just the way I like it.

"You enjoy it. I'm in a cold, tiny room," Chelsea says. Her brother is expecting a son, and they still have to wait two centimeters before they can hope to meet him.

I follow where the wind takes me. Then I hear the birds--soft coo's and hum's from somewhere above. I never can spot them when they perch--hidden safely in the branches. The smallest ones chirp brightly. I wish I knew what they were saying.

A mysterious, brown cloud floats overhead.

"Pollution," Shanequa says, after joining me outside for the lovely day. I turn to Shanequa: "I'm not ready to join forces with environmentalists yet." Nothing can ruin my beautiful day.

The cloud makes the sun shine pink through the soot, and I admire it. They say even the beautiful colors of the sun setting are from pollution, too. If I can admire that, I'll admire this.

The sun is hidden from sight, and the birds begin to chirp louder. I hear them and look to the sky to find the flock flying over me. I wonder where they are going. Such freedom. Such disregard for all else--just their flock and their destination. On a beautiful day like today, I wish I could join them. Just float somewhere new. Somewhere with weather like today year-round; somewhere my worries can be left behind.

If only change was as easy for me as it is for the birds.

2 comments:

  1. I loved this - short, spare and understated. You're right that so many things that make the world ugly make it beautiful in almost equal measure.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you so much. Oddly enough, I'm in class and a bird is currently chirping near the window. I guess it will be the motif of the week. Or, at least, I hope so.

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