What thing is this, of earth which tries to fly? The Cowbird.
What thing is this, made of earthlings but which feels, in ample space, like possibilities? The Cowbird.
What thing is this which from the distance resembles a giant silver bird, a shining thing of the morning, a thing in the brilliant light, and which, when you come closer, becomes the architecture of chairs, the architecture of the sun, the chairs, the giant beach shelter......
...But is it still not a bird, the bird you first saw, the comedy it first resembled, the far distant hope it once resembled and brought you closer....
It is the Cowbird.
If it is made of things, both close and far, both daily and dreaming...the big bird, the shape of life, and it is ----
Then, is it not true, it is us? Yes, it is us.
We are not simply forensics.
We are dreamers.
We are more than forensics, we are creatures who write of the forest. We are more than forensics, we are forest creatures, we are more than forensics, we are creatures of the sea. It is our story tentacles we have brought to each other. Wound in to each other now, we are the things, the beings, los seres humanos who once, looking, found a place to rest, to nest, to perch, to sit upon each others' sprouted silvers, and to lay our wings out, so others passing by might go: what is that? What might that be? Is that a bird....
Is it a Bird? Is it a Cow?
No, baby, it's a Cowbird!
Happy Birthday, baby bird!
(Photo by Susan, South Florida, 2012)