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.


  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.

    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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