She Could Have Been Me with Feathers
In Olympic Park, Washington, gray jays perched in the trees, swooped near, tickling our ears with the sound of their wings.
One mother bird didn’t join the flight but watched two of her brood act out their adolescent attitudes.
Out on a limb they fought, nipped, snipped, shoved and said bad bird words their tongues shrieking pink.
The irate mother flapped in between them bopped them such a scold they hushed dropped to the ground— feathers ruffled, each in a silent sibling snit.
Then a third brat lit and it was bad manners, bad language all over again.
This time, Mama took a slow flight to a low post, turned her face in a new direction.
Her eyes glazed; she seemed to be in a daydream where she had no children, never planned to and the raucous to do behind her was not her problem.
A brief time out.
An oval of restful solitude.
I felt a bond, a recognition for I too did that, sometimes.
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Author: Rosalie Toler
Rosalie Toler; writer of humor, religion, nature, and letters and a gifted speaker of motivational programs. She also wrote many essays on her subjects of humor and religion with those published in magazines and newspapers. She developed into a writer of poetry and self-published two collections of that work.
Rosalie was a summa cum laude graduate from Southwest Missouri State University with a degree in English and Religion.
I feel present, though unnamed.
Such an exceptional observation
And articulated so well that it clearly forms a word painting in my mind
THank You JOe.