Two Birds

Two birds fluttered about my head when I opened the front door the other evening. I let out a little yelp.

I think they must have been resting on the fake Christmas wreath on the door.

Must have been where the other bird was a few nights ago.

I can’t figure what they were.

Two quick and not enough illumination to identify the type of bird, and they gave no sound but flutter of wings.

Size of about my fist and fluffy looking. Perhaps a tan color.

I have lived here for well over a decade and never have birds roosted on that wreath.

But twice now in the past few evenings , I have roused birds from that wreath in my evening steps to the back patio.

It has been a very warm winter over all.

The depression that was shaping has been contained but remains.

I have the smokers flu quite bad. Stuffy nose, sneezing. Tired.

Day 14 no smoking.

I am tired and sad.

This winter is the first that I have really been scared of Covid.

I have read too much about its damage, read too much of the long term havoc it might cause.

But everyone around me is carrying on, semi fine.

Upside down land is where I am.

Underemployed, isolated, scared.

I didn’t expect the fear — but it is here, heavy and not entirely unwelcome.

I wear it like a cloak. Like a multi colored coat.

My own parable and private pain.