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The Wren

I wish it were enough to feel into a void. To just feel, to vibrate in blackness and alone. To tell no one, to create nothing. To simply be contained energy, radiating nowhere.

But it is not enough. It is not enough, for me.

Today I was distracted by bird song, too loud and too close. I got up to look for it. A wren was trapped in the sunroom, with an impossibly beautiful voice. It kept thunking itself against windows, breaking my heart. I never thought about how a room of windows is a bird's hell.

I opened all of them onto their screens - softer places to land. Fifty percent less chance of bird death. Then I widened the door and sat in the middle of the room, hoping to scare it away from flying past its exit.

The wren hid behind a chair for a bit. Hopped around, butt comically diagonal, feet splayed and skittering. Impossibly alive. It thunked against more windows and I agonized.

Then it flew out of the door and landed high in a very tall evergreen, and it sang to me, as loud as if it were still in a room of glass with me. Impossibly loud, for such a tiny thing.

I can hear it now from where I'm still trapped. Though I wish it was with me, I'm very glad I let it go.

Flightlessness does not justify a cage.

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1 August 2016