They and I are a Spectrum

When I wake, blanketed by the soft orange of the sun,

A gracious warmth rises within me.

I see through the window dashes and splats of color,

Birds illuminated and scattered by attraction.

Their song is light, and I sing along,

I sing their names and inspiritingly clothe myself as an indigo bunting,

his stark, bright and blue plumage.

I love birds and hunting for their lovely, reassuring feathers.

In every color, in every shade, in every spectrum.

I know their names though they do not know mine.

I know their song though they do not know mine.

They go about their day, unaware of the attention they draw.

I am the same, unaware.

They are small, but loud against neutrality.

I am small, but loud against my fears.

When I see red, I see the calming music notes of the Cardinal,

When I see dark, I see the grace of a Raven.

When I feel dark, when I feel cold, when I feel empty, I feel the spirit and spunk of the Black-capped Chickadee,

When I am inside and it is night,

I study a feather in my hand.

I know I am a spectrum and there is color I cannot fathom.