How they search for something to eat
now winter has come, how they puff up
to stay warm, to survive these hard times
long enough to greet spring again. Yet,
how is it we never find their slim bodies
after they die; a feather found in the snow,
nothing more? As if they’ve become one
with the air. As if they’ve become a last breath
that’s escaped the cage of the body
to fly on invisible wings, to breathe
in concert with all living things. Look,
how the birds love their lives. Look,
how the sky loves their flying.
Photo by Christian Søgaard on Unsplash
Very nice! Planning to keep my eyes open to more of your fine writing.
So clear. So complex. So sorrowful. So comforting.