A slow walk

Photo by bert b on Unsplash

Small puffy clouds float across a silver-blue sky and the sun beckons me from my window. I wear my hat, a light jacket, jeggings to wander around the building and sit in the lounge chairs to gaze at the flowers and watch the birds.

One brown bird with a yellow-green sheen hops along the fake grass, listening for worms. It stops and pulls itself to its full height which is only a few inches, then pokes its beak past the grass into the dirt underneath it. There is enough hunting that the bird does this for several minutes. Finally it flies away into the trees, hidden in the leaves. Probably a female bird, but I can’t tell.

Usually the brown birds are the females of the blackbirds. They fly with their mates and flocks. You don’t usually see them alone.

Sunday is my day to be quiet and observe. Even though Foxy is not with me anymore, the dogs still greet me. It makes me happy.

Once again I look my mortality in the face and say, “I want to live.”

And, I will.