I saw the birds perched in a tree at the end of the Close.
Black bird shapes on black branches, settled in silhouette against the cold white winter sky. I count 10. I think there are 10.
What is in their minds? I know birds cannot be said to have consciousness of self in the same way humans do. Or can do.
I am sitting, staring out of the window and wondering about the birds.
I try to get into their birdy brains. I am thinking of my claw-like twist-sticks feet curled around the cold twig of the branch. I am flicking, fleeting random thought of tree, bird, branch, twig, claw, bird, sky, fly, twig, tree, bird, branch, sky.
Of course I have no language. Not in the way that humans have it. For all I know the bird word for ‘tree’ is ‘Kaaah’ but of course they have no concept of language at all, only the black and white reality of tree, sky, earth; and the moment which is always Now.
No past. No future. They live in the moment.
All 10 birds – suddenly, almost as one – take to the air. Uncurl those cold feet from cold bark and take flight into the cold sky. No chatter about when or where. Just unfurl and fly knowing all will follow. A time to perch. A time to fly. Always living in the Now.
I am sad watching the dark birds wheeling in the sky.
I am wishing I could also live in the Now. Forget the past. Not worry about the future. Just stretch out. Step off. And fly.
