On the 3rd,
we all see a bird coming back home
as if it had been waiting
for April’s foolishness to calm down
before daring to cross our skies again.
It glides in with that effortless arrogance
only birds and very old truths possess,
cutting a clean line through the blue,
claiming our roofs
as if they were always meant
to be its landing pads.
It perches above us,
tilts its tiny head,
and sings directly into our ears
with the confidence of someone
who knows we’ve been a little lost,
a little dramatic,
a little too human lately.
Life, of course, says nothing out loud.
It never does.
It just sends this feathered messenger
to remind us
with a wink disguised as wings
that we will always have our memories,
those stubborn little lanterns
that make us
less sad,
less bad,
less mad,
even when the world insists
on giving us reasons for all three.
The bird doesn’t fix anything.
It doesn’t need to.
It simply arrives,
as if returning to a story
it never stopped believing in,
and its presence alone
is enough to stitch a small seam
in the tear of the day.
And so April 3rd unfolds,
quietly triumphant,
carrying the soft irony
that only a returning bird can deliver:
that hope is ridiculous,
fragile,
winged
and somehow
always on time.
Wow.. Love this Par”that hope is ridiculous, fragile, winged and somehow always on time.
Thanks for reading, comments and all.
This is the second great piece I’ve read on here today…..perhaps it’s got something to do with a bunny.
🙏
A very funny little bunny! Thank you.
I love that hope is a bird. It has that feeling about it of flight. Beautifully written with wonderful imagery
Thank you, my dear.
Beautifully penned, PAR. Into the book it belongs! Excellent write with amazing storytelling that’s nestled in wisdom. Chef’s kiss my friend. Really love this one brother. Appreciate you.
Damian
Life is a neverending storytelling, thanks Damian.
Another flawless write my friend. Detailed, fragile & influential. Great work.
Great, my friend, you are great.