Birds give a wide berth to the fickle human need to cling and capture. I’d trade your open-eyed soul for the book of my life, but I’m just black ink on a black page; known only by the memory of my cursive streak through life.
The chattering outbursts of birds span the length of my hearing, the breadth of my mind, and hold me from the inside like a hand in a glove. What a pair: my blue eyes and the dark speck of a wren – under the sun for a day and sleeping the same night forever.