Wings and Whispers
I sit outside
before the city wakes.
The garden is alive.
Sparrows arrive first—
noisy, impatient,
eating fast, gone before goodbye.
Mynas slip in—
alert, watchful, claiming gaps.
Pigeons land with clumsy weight,
Eager doves hover at the edges,
neither rushes.
Some eat.
Some carry food away—
for young, for later, for somewhere else.
Crows take hard bread,
dip it in water,
don’t rush, don’t waste
Smart birds indeed!
A woodpecker taps the tree,
checks, moves on.
Butterflies drift,
landing on flowers,
colors stitched into the greenery.
Leaves sway in a gentle rhythm,
flowers nod,
the air hums with wings and life.
Jostling, fly-bys,
the quiet rule of the jungle at work.
No one stays forever.
No one takes it all.
Different needs.
Different ways.
One shared space.
By the time the feeder empties,
the lesson is gone with them.
The city wakes.
I linger,
wondering why we make living together harder than it needs to be.
