the birds crept in twilight padding on the wet grass.
I lay with my head on the concrete staring at them.
The red robins were my favorite because they always seemed to turn toward me and stare. Something about being stared at with their beedy eyes, while their chests heaved up and down. But in that time they would sometimes look for a minute or more, just staring. Sometimes it hopped closer to me.

Eventually it would turn away, pounding its beak into the clay soil and ripping out grass til its prey wiggled wildly in its beak. Then it’d jump then let out its wings and flap them as it would go up and up till it swooped into a thick tree where it disappeared.

I see other birds too sometimes. But they never look at me. Just stay for their breakfast bugs and then off to the tree to chit chat with their friends across the block.

Now there are no birds in the yard. But there is a whipering chatter, quiet but fervent, like whispers during church. Just the empty grass, and the empty plants, and empty trees. Not even the bees are up to make their entrance. The sky is a chilly blue. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to watching for these birds who could care less about me. But here I am. Listening to their singing. They have started singing. They are so excited. They can feel the rush of dawn coming. They know the time for their eggs to hatch is coming. And soon they will have have helpless little babies clinging to their nests, which they will feed, and they will love. That is nature. Everyone loves their babies.

Their singing, like small hymnals, like children running. I want to feel excited too, I want to sing out just because I am alive and sun is coming. I am almost annoyed to be witnessing their divine faith.

Being a frail bird is accepting death can snatch you up any night, so morning is a celebration always. I poke my finger into the dirt, slowly pull a blade of grass from out the dirt. Its long root lay flat in my hand. I toss it aside, it lay lost forgotten to god as it will dry and wither away.

My plants will appreciate that though, kill a few blades of grass, make some more room for their roots to florish.




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