Birds. This is about birds, because I am afraid.
There were two parks near my old old house, and they were positively stuffed with birds. There were playgrounds and stuff too. But mostly birds.
I remember…one day we went to the smaller park after it had rained. All the benches and slides were dewy wet. The mulch dark and spongy. A stone wall surrounded the park, the kind made of sharp stones so you had to be careful when you swung your legs. My dad sat me on the wall and maybe there were others and maybe they talked to me. But after that everybody disappeared because I heard this lovely sound.
coo-aah-oooh. woo, woo, woo.
I was the softest, sweetest thing. It sounded like it was coming from miles away.
This was my first experience with Mourning Doves, my favorite bird in the world. I looked up to find one sitting on a glistening power line just above me. It was round and soft and gray, and everthing seemed alright with the world.
Even now, when I hear them, I go back to that day, and I feel that same loneliness, like I am the only person in the world. It’s a feeling like a swelling balloon in my chest. It’s a good feeling. I would buy a Mourning Dove as a pet one day but I couldn’t stand to keep it.
My second favorite bird in the world is the trash bird. I don’t know the real name. More on that later, when I get to newer memories.
More on everything later.
Happy Holidays.
