Thursday, December 13, 2007

Watching...

...the little sparrow as it flits and flutters along the street. I sit, watching the little sparrow, hopping, skipping, jumping from bread crumb to bread crumb along the sidewalk. What can you do but admire the beautiful creature, striving to live in the face of adversity? And yet is it not expected of all creatures save certain men to continue one's existence in this world? All save certain men.

But this sparrow is a special one. Mingling in the crowds of people. Socially active. In and out trying to find it's niche in the rush of everyday hustle and bustle. Along the street it dances, weaving in and out, avoiding the stamping feet, the black leather shoes and high-heels, sneakers and slippers. Dancing. Once in a while it chirps its little call, almost shyly, raising its head, opening its beak in small song. It has often walked down this street before. Yet the song it sings everyday is a new one and the dance of life is strong. It dances for joy, it sings with faith that today it will find bread. Or rice for that matter.

And suddenly this sparrow has an identity, a face, a body, a gender. She flutters around, sometimes half-heartedly but always with a distinct purpose, with determination. Perhaps she has been in courtships uncounted for such is the way of life. Yet these things cease to matter when I look upon her so joyful and free. Always free.

Today the weather is good, her feathers remain unruffled, preened and prissy. Though tomorrow might be wet and gloomy, always she lives through and through. By and by her luck will change and the sun will shine again. The sparrow has been through harder times and never was she broken and defeated beyond revival. Yet always the little figure evokes a sense of want. The want to show special care and attention, to cater for her every need, her every feeling, her every desire. But who am I to know a sparrow's heart's desire or to boast of it if I did. Who am I to put words in her beak. Nought but a simple boy.

My eye is on her. The sparrow. And I watch as she comes closer to me, coming to receive the bread I give with love and care. She comes so close, away from the crowds in which she mingled, to take the little comfort I offer. The temptation is to keep her, to feed her till she stays, for I would give her security in this harsh world. Yet how can one chain this little creature, so joyful, so amiable, adorable with any bonds of metal, string or worse. Bonds of love. But the sparrow chirps its delightful song again and my heart is filled with joy. Had I my flute I'd play Mozart with definite pinkness in my music.

But again I sit and I watch and I think. I wonder if she'll fly away, to mingle again and never return. For how could one cage this beautiful thing when so joyful it is, so free. Always free. Always free.