About - Like a Bird

Like a butterfly pinned to a table, however, happiness dies unless it is held lightly.

things don’t seem to be as heavy as we think they are, but they seem to be floating above the ground, and seemingly hilarious, funny, swift, and lucid.

a wanderer who finds a feather on a woodland pathway sees not only the bird it once clothed but the forest that sustained the bird, the clouds, the rain, the sun, the seeding darkness. She sees the stars. She sees that her life and that of the feather-bird are indissolubly connected.

The way he looked. Eyes raised up, body tethered by one long thread to the big stormy sky, the whole of him up there with his words, talking to whoever was listening. I’ve not seen a sight to match it. No bones of his had ever been shoved in a feed bag. The man was a giant.

I try to imagine how the wind may feel and how the landscape may appear for the seagull. Of course, I will never know what it is like to be a seagull.