Bird & snow
It’s snowing big fluffy flakes and the air is soft.
For the past several days on my walks to and from work I have seen a mockingbird perched in a holly hedge, feathers fluffed against the cold, singing quiet little songs. It doesn’t move when I walk by. Even as I slow down and gaze at it the bird just cocks its head, looks at me from one eye and sings a little more. It seems too early for nesting, but who can say?
I am nesting too, I want to say, pointing to my belly in my silly human way, thinking that the world, even avian, must be interested in my affairs. But the bird doesn’t care as long as I don’t get too close, and I am glad of it and walk on.