The House Finch

There was a pair of house finches building a small nest outside our window. I’d watch them weave it all together—the female, with her muted brown feathers, working relentlessly on her art. The twigs meticulously placed, one over the next—how they intertwined with one another. The male, with his bright cherry red head and breast, …

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Bird Watching

When I speak, the ghost of self leaks out my mouth.  Like smoke, or vapor.  My fingers curl out from my nostrils.  I am watching the all of me cast out and drive away. It is too hot here. And the world is far too sad. There is too much anger for the sadness, as if we …

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