The Wise Ry Guy

If I’m being honest

I know very little about birds

But

I love them

I love birds

They’re the best

I’ve found myself sitting for extensive periods in the shade of my back yard, mellowed by the Texas breeze

Drawn out of my stuffy sapien cove by the sort of weather which can persuade an unrested soul toward its happier temperament

The sort of weather which marches forth to herald the peaceful spirit of nature

I was drawn out by sun and birds

Trees represented in an array of colors and shades of green

And beyond my fence, via its disrepair, I get to see hosts of people walking by

Closing the economy has made a lot of us more active and perhaps closer to nature

Whatever that means

So I sit, and think

Only time of my day when I’m not scrambled with anxiety

like an existential egg.

And I watch

Swallows dart

the Red-Winged Blackbird glides

the Scissor-Tailed Flycatcher splits and dives

other birds.. do other things

I told you I don’t that much about birds

noob ornithologist here

I like to think about being able to fly like birds

They go so fast – it’s incredible

I’d love to be able simply to take off and soar

I can’t imagine all the things they’ve seen that I couldn’t grasp

A bird’s mode of being appears so playful

Popping up on a gust of wind

cruising down

flapping furiously to level and up

lowering a bit

popping up on another gust of wind to repeat the process

Like skipping on a sidewalk

My perspective permits me the benefit of not seeing the struggle and the brevity of the fowl life

Perhaps for all the wisdom and elation of flight

Birds wonder yet about the miracle of long strides and grand homes

Soccer nets and street cars

Able hands and fine wine

For all they’ve seen, I wonder what we could tell each other

I experienced a sensation that I once felt in real life in a dream last night

I relived its palpable vividness

I have been trying to recall it in my waking hours to no avail for a long time

Even still, the vividness of the event, the vividness of the dream,

my recollection of them consists of senseless images* and strange ideas

Maybe the birds could tell me about that

. . .

 

 

 

*Do your memories play back like silent film? Images without sensation? Though not simply silence, for of all the senses aside from sight audio is the kindest of them to be recalled, but void of imminent feeling, scent, touch & taste. For all birds could tell us, they’d have no comfort to give to a creature who can dwell on its own being.