#569: Some Birds

I sit in meditation
in a room with banks
of window on three walls.
The windows that open
are open. It’s morning,
April, and it’s cool in here;
a breeze moves through
and I am almost cold.
I practice breathing.
Some birds are out there,
doing their bird thing.
We call it singing.
This morning there’s
a kind of call and response
happening between
birds on either side
of the room where I sit.
Stereo birds. But there
does seem to be a
conversation happening.
One bird call follows
the other bird call without
fail. I like this.
Mostly, people like to
listen to birds,
even the ones with
less beautiful music,
like the crows,
who are unusually
quiet this morning.
People feel less alone
and less forlorn
when some birds
are doing their bird thing.
I feel that way now
as I practice breathing
and listen, wondering
how long these two
birds will sing to each other.
I don’t know my birds.
I don’t know their names.
They sing to me
just the same.