Call it What You Want

A goldfinch came to the kitchen window this morning. I was finishing up my choker necklace on the table, and its movement caught my attention and I thought it was a finch at first but then it was too yellow and it came closer and I could tell it was a female goldfinch.

I had already been to the gym. My back was tight, my arms and fingers short circuiting. I had already threaded the silver owls onto velvet rope, and the little silver tubes between them and hooked them all together with nickel wire. Now I needed to add the beaded line in the middle where the humming bird would hang. I was threading beads when the bird came. And soon after it left, I put the necklace away. I’ll finish it sometime. Not now.

What else can I say. I’m at work now, and it’s the same old deaths and the same old friends and ‘can I come visit’ and something about taxes and picking corn and the fifty dead in Orlando and I know we make life meaningful, if we want to we can give meaning to everything, but not today and maybe not this week.

Maybe that bird will come back to the window again. Maybe I’ll find lizards cooling on the covered grill out back. Maybe I’ll drop my thoughts like fish food into the aquarium. Drop every last thought into the water and sit on the bed and watch the danios and the yellow skirts and the hiding firemouth ciclid until my eyes drift backwards and sleep captures me and holds me erect on the bed, staring forever through glass and green water.

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