That one day when I’m with you …
I shine all day Sunday
That one day when I’m with you
That one day
It’s a fun day
Sunday is my day with you.
Oh man, Frankie, baby, you knew so well. Sundays are the kicks.
Two birds in the hand
And this Sunday kicked off in unique style. With a dull thump. A small bird flew right into the sliding glass door on the living room porch and was sitting there motionless, stunned.
The sight took me back to a year earlier when we found a bird, motionless, on its side but still breathing. It tried to stand up. And fell. I tried everything I could to revive it. Gentle strokes on the feathers, water, whispering and even a slight gentle rolling in a paper towel. The hit it took was too much and the bird died.
Later that day I was sitting on the steps, fixing my bicycle and still feeling badly about not being able to save the bird. A bird with very similar coloring landed next to me on the railing. Close enough that I could touch it. I did touch it. I stroked it on the beak and feathers on the back of its neck. It didn’t flinch. It didn’t flee..
I even brought it a little saucer of water, but it wasn’t interested.
Eventually it flew off, leaving me with the oddest feeling that I had just witnessed something beyond our normal scope of reality.