Warble On…
The muse has not been visiting me in an obvious way, lately.
In other words, I’ve had little desire to write about anything, and it’s been fine simply to read the work of others, and learn from people in a more fecund phase of their lives. It’s been a more passive time in my life, lately, and I’m not sure what to make of it, so I’m not making anything of it until further notice.
Today I woke up after trying a ‘new way of sleeping’ on my side the night prior, which is supposed to be more restorative, and it seemed to provide a more wholesome night’s sleep, and that was cool. I felt more rested and a bit more peaceful.
I cracked open the door to let my sweet dog out and noticed that on the ground by the steps was a pair of grey wings (attached to a little bird, of course), and its body was rising and falling rapidly with its breath. It looked injured and frightened, and so I created a little plan to see if I might be able to spend some time with the bird and heal it for its continuing journey. A dose of realism was in my psychological holster, but still I thought maybe I could assist. It was worth a try.
Trying to think of what might work, a flower pot with soft soil called out to me. It was empty of flowers and I placed some dried straw from the garden on it with a little cup of water and some seeds I had from the kitchen. I didn’t know what kind of bird…
