The visitor

He came again
a whisper of feathers
on the edge of my world.

Not brave,
not shy,
just there.
Uninvited.
Unmoved.

I watched from behind glass,
heart somewhere
between a flinch
and a question.

He turned his head.
As if he knew
I still hadn’t understood
what he was trying to say.

###

It started last Thursday, or maybe that’s just when I noticed it: a small bird with a red tail visiting again and again. As if he was asking for my time, my presence – something. And I began wondering if it was a sign or if I have too much time on my hands. I really don’t know, but since I have a phobia of birds I probably gave this little one more power than he really has. And he deserved his own poem.