the bird flies

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the bird flies

high above the ground

each person a tiny speck in a swirl of colors

swinging through the clouds

lofting above them

and diving swiftly below

its vision of the ground below zooming quickly into focus


as it perches itself atop the noble pine

a child jumps on an old rope swing

rocking back and forth the branches of the tired tree creak and groan

the bird flutters

leaps to a different branch

sits completely unaffected

watching for another of its kind

but taking joy in the life that surrounds it


the bird can be anything

a hawk

a robin

a crow

the ugly duckling we read about as children

for it is not the kind of bird that matters

but where it perches itself

and how it holds itself in the world that surrounds it


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