Dirty Bird

 

 

I see,
through the chain-linked fence of my old stomping grounds:
A dirty, grayish-white bird with a black beak and pencil legs.
Dried gum scattered around.
Some of it black from the sun.
Grass growing through cracks.
Not black at all, but green.
There are ripples in the water where the dirty birdy stands, reflecting his image.
For himself?
Or for the world to see?
The dirty bird can fly. He can do whatever he wants with his life. So can I.  Well, not fly, but, you know...
Tell stories,
Love moments,
Create memories, 
Treasure relationships,
Follow impulses,
Listen to my instinct,
Take risks...
or
I can do nothing.
I can live a life of passion, or I dream of living a life of passion. Only dreams, but no action.
I reflect on the bird's reflection which has inspired my reflecting. I weigh my options.  I make a choice.  I am an actor. I act.  All dreams must become actions.
I hope you will join me.
From this day forward, let our dreams become actions.
Let us all act out.
Thank you, dirty bird.

Photo by Amanda Grupp.  Words by Steve Brian.