Birds and I
Ushers of the year's end. Mike's beautiful and apt December $ prompt (#2).
For the entire year, I have watched the baby birds just hanging out on rooftops outside my window. In a few weeks they mature and disappear, each exit of a pair brings the entry of another duo. Always there were two, then two became three. Today, imagine my surprise to awaken to nine babies strewn all over the mildly sunny morning places. I was overwhelmed and completely fascinated with this new development.
Two of them were actually hugging and seemed in deep conversation. Maybe they were wondering who the apparition at yonder window was and why the strange being was watching them.
What better topic to tell of the ushering out of one phase and the forever continuity of the new.
Baby Birds
As I sit and watch the rooftop guests, The baby birds in their cozy nests, In just a few weeks they take flight, Their dance with nature, pure delight.
From tiny chirps to fearless wings, I marvel at the change it brings. The cycle, endless, yet so brief, Each season turns a brand new leaf.
For every end, a fresh start dawns, With the setting sun, morning begins, renews. Nature’s rhythm, so profound, In every ushering out of old, new life rebounds.
The year bows out, the days grow cold, Yet, like the tales the seasons told, Each ending writes a prelude sweet, To moments new, a future replenished.
As birds fly forth, new life takes stage, In this delicate dance, I find my voice. The rooftop's joy, a birdsome symphony true, In every end, beginnings accrue.
May the gentle cycles of nature bring you peace and inspiration. If you listen closely, you may hear life whisper themes of continuation and reflection. "I'm here with you". Sings the wind.
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About the Creator
Antoni De'Leon
Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content. (Helen Keller).
Tiffany, Dhar, JBaz, Rommie, Grz, Paul, Mike, Sid, NA, Michelle L, Caitlin, Sarah P. List unfinished.
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1:49am
4/16/25 1:49am I want to breathe death in my larynx and feel loose change in the torn and raggedy pockets of my mother’s cardigan. The water is next to the bed. It’s not cold and never will be. So I guess what’s left is us; we will walk with crooked feet on a path carved by ancient societies. You will borrow my shoes. I will taste vengeance in my tea and convince myself it’s good for my liver. Coffee is fine too. Yes, that’s all. I will think about how I want to kiss you and, the clouds, they will rise to space, and leaves, they will glue their limbs back together. The sun has been out for weeks. This screw isn’t any looser than when I bought it. But I will wake up and I will be in the ship that splits in two and slide my sullen palms across its tundric pillow. I never took swimming lessons so whatever happens is meant to be. I’m sorry if that upsets you. I’m sorry I said that. Anyway, I want to lie nude in wildflowers with ants who build colonies and worms who can’t see. You have a problem with textures. You can’t help it. I could try to tell you things, like how I want my children to understand how little everything is and to not be afraid of the giant fingers that grab at sewing needles in their dreams. I could say it always scared me. It’s just not right. But listen, back to it: I want to indulge in passion and binge affection. Is it a sin if it helps? I will endure the things I am given and inculcate everyone around me to do the same. Do five laps around the block before you respond, whatever helps. I will tell you I want harmony to be palpable and wheels of recognition to be locked in an imperishable gear. Refill the pot if it’s empty. What I want has nothing to do with me. Diagonal tile is cold, you know, and my hair gets crunchy after too long out there. I want this lesson to end.
By Olivia Dodge5 days ago in Poets
Comments (8)
Very touching. Melancholy and reflective. Great work Antoni. 🤗
I love the image and your wonderful words
Awww, that was so lovely and heartwarming!
How tweet is your story. Keep on enjoying nature's treat. Happy holidays.
nice cute way of saying how they grow
Aww, love how you’ve captured the baby birds growing up! It’s like nature’s little reminder that change is always around the corner, but it’s also part of the big cycle of life. The birds are just the cutest metaphor for fresh starts. So sweet! 😊✨
Beautiful bird story and poem. It is always fun to be an all of the little baby birds that are in the nest, every year we get the opportunity to see a Robin with her eggs in a nest.
I loved your bird story!