little bird

Yesterday morning, I was in a funk. I did not want to go to work. I wanted to stay home, lay in bed, spend time with my husband who had just gotten home from a trip to Dallas. But I had to go to work. There was stuff to do.

I walked down the residential sidewalk, a work drama playing out in my head -witty, biting remarks (all the wit mine, of course), offenses taken, repercussions to being a loose cannon (loose cannon being all me, of course). And as I was lost in high drama thought, a bird that was sitting on a fence post took notice of me and flitted from the post, across my path, and onto a mailbox. She waited until I was only inches from her and swooped onto the next mailbox. And she waited.

The way the bird moved from fence to mailbox to fence to mailbox, gave me visions of Cinderella with bluebirds putting ribbons on her party dress.

Our interaction ended half a block later at a tree. What was normally a ratty residential tree was filled with bright pink blossoms. The bird sat amongst the flowers and cocked her head at me.

The sparrow looked perfect as I stared up at her and her surroundings- the pink flowers and blue sky. If not for her, I would not have looked up, would not  have seen the bright, beautiful colors above me. I would have continued my thoughts with eyes on concrete and stucco.

She cocked her head again as if to say, “So what do you say about that?”

And I answered, “fuck you, bird.” And went to work.

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