Note: I decided to remain true to the Artist’s Way journey and handwrite my morning pages. I don’t know what pushed me to reconsider other than a desire to accept what I don’t know and immerse myself in it. I was inspired to write this after my morning pages today.
The Bird at My Window
A bird came to my frosted window this morning.
I looked at it through the broken glass of frozen crystals creeping along the pane.
Its pin beak was a needle meant for nectar not ice.
Its song was desperate.
Shall I let it in?
Its song was insistent.
Shall I respond to its plea?
Its song was just a song, meant for the sky, not me.
A bird came to my snow globe window this morning, and it wanted nothing but to sing.