The Quiet And Still of It All

He’s so present with his feathers. Sweet little bird.

Sitting on a thin branch that reaches for the sky, not too far from the window, he preens as I sit here with a pillow on my lap, and my mac on top of that. I keep looking up, afraid that the next time I look I won’t see him there.

He’s peaceful. Nudging his light grey chest fluff, pulling at the feathers beneath his wing. I feel him like a soothing balm. I need him. Because of all the ‘too much’.

The ‘too much’ is everything modern and fast. Social media and the angry. The many faces desperate to be seen and heard. People selling products that promise to fix things that are not broken. Gurus. Followers. Celebrities. Fans. It’s yin and yang meets the wild, wild west.

There must have been a time where someones only worry was the fox eating the chickens, after dark. Now, the fox still eats the chickens, but all the world demands the fox pay, the next day.

Does anyone remember the river? The way it bubbled softly like the sweetest sigh, and the birds? My bird? Oh my sweet bird, gone now, but the perfect reminder of purity and quiet.

I want to abandon humanity to its noise.

I want to find home in the quiet and the still of it all.