Birds

Someone once told me she expected me to start speaking with the birds outside my window, to become one with the sky and the whispers of the wind. I smiled and said, "I have never spoken with a bird before, but I imagine their conversations are filled with the poetry of the heavens. I would probably ask if they were ever envious of things that cannot take flight."

In the quiet moments of solitude, I often find myself gazing at the birds as they dance upon the air, their wings brushing against the canvas of the sky. I wonder what secrets they share, what dreams they confide in the gentle rustle of the leaves. Do they yearn for solid ground, or do they revel in the freedom of the boundless sky?

If I were to speak with the birds, I would ask them about their tales, of the places they have witnessed and the harmonies they have woven into the fabric of the world. I would inquire if they ever envied the grounded creatures, rooted to the earth, with dreams that soar but never take flight.

For in their graceful flight, I see a reflection of my own desires, a longing to transcend the limitations of the mundane and embrace the limitless expanse of the unknown. So, as I watch the birds outside my window, I can't help but wonder about the conversations that unfold in the language of the sky.

Copyright ? Beatriz Esmer