the sweet keen of mockingbirds

[threeplusfire]

Yesterday I followed a bluejay, hopping across the grass. It's wing had been broken, perhaps by a cat. I felt sad that I could not catch it, fix it. Though birds seem more prone to shame, and they so often die just from our touch.

Today it's the mockingbirds, in pairs on the top of the metal fence round the pool. It's empty out there, just the calm sound of the fountain rushing by.