Birds gather ornamentally at the tippy top of a bare-limbed tree. Perfectly spaced gaps separate them on their high perch as they sing and chatter loudly at twilight, interrupting each other with both important and frivolous mentionings of the day.
Ignoring the chain link fence below, they suddenly rise together as one entity and swoop through the swirly sky, proving the fence can not confine them like some sort of giant birdcage. I marvel at their cohesiveness and wonder if all that chirping was an orchestrated plan to fly in a great synchronized circle from tree top to invigorating rush and back again, or if their stunt was just a game of follow the leader.
They are free to explore the sky above, but they seem to respect the imaginary boundary line of the fence hugging their tree... all but one, that is. One daring bird brakes away from the flock and crosses that boundary line, maybe to bravely see what I'm all about.
He quickly finds his way back, however, and all the birdies continue their multiple conversations, now oblivious to me on the other side of the boundary line.
They seem to take comfort in numbers and familiarity back behind the fence again. They're within safe boundaries even though they have great capacity for more and the necessary tools to fly away. Even though they're free, they confine themselves to the lure of the tree's best qualities, behind the fence.
It's nice to have a safe, familiar, comforting branch of my own lined with people who are there to push with encouragement or pull with open arms for whenever I beat my wings and venture beyond the comfort of my fence.
From Behind a Fence,
But once, he was only one day.
presents,
friends,
family,
and it wouldn't be like Liam without a good wondering walk.
