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Birds

2/12/20

There is a section in the parking lot of the business park where I work at that touches life. In the back, left corner (if facing North—so, technically, the north-west corner) there is a calf-high concrete jut fixed nicely by a fence. The fence is lifted to my left, a possible path for paroling animals, or maybe just a way to steal metal bobbles you wouldn’t even know what to do with.

I smoked there, sitting, listening. The rush of cars in the distance, muted by the hollow rustle of bare trees and the light, crisp, chirping of hungry, winter birds. I am warm. I don’t feel so rushed anymore. There is a silent comfort after struggle—when the turbulence has helped jiggle the pieces of you back in place.

Everything is so fragile, though. We are resourceful ruiners: breaking & fixing so often we just call it living. What else would we do? You can’t stop entropy. Change is consistent whether it be macro or micro. I like structure because you can appreciate its spectrum. Just like you appreciate the smell of your home after being away, you understand the liberation of breaking your own norm.

We are birds—getting fed, resting, surviving, repeating. Let us remember to pause, enjoy the wind, feel the sun, and let our structures fall. Chaos will prevail, and even if that’s your food from the feeder, it won’t save you.

Love you Mom, Dad, Sis, Marie, Amelia, & cat

E.B.

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