Songbirds Singing

Two weeks since we walked. Cold some days and gone the others.

I kicked off my boots, switched to the Nikes and left the sweater, the pants, just added big hoodie.

We began with a light stepping run.

I realized the ease.

Realized the difference.

Walking then, I noticed the birds, tiny, tiny and gray little things the size of my palm.

Others in the barren branches waiting the tiny sparrow’s fairly novice flight.

Sounds all around, impossible to see, to know where from, birds singing like Spring.

Soft, I decided. If I touched them, they’d be soft. I wondered how it could be so strong, so small, seemed so very new, newborn.

Brought to mind the song from before, the days I sat with college girls and we yearned over the long, longings…so far away and so long ago before…

For you, there’ll be no more crying…And the songbirds are singing, like they know the score.

Fleetwood Mac, Rumours

From then, we walked easy even though daylight was dimming.

I stopped because of skinny branches I thought were pretty and I let the Labrador pause to smell the earth underneath.

I waited for the sky to go coral and then we turned towards home.

Remembering why we walk, finding what waits to be noticed.

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