Jay Bird

It was getting late in the afternoon.  The sun was at that position where it was about to set, but not quite.  The breeze blew warm and soft.  The grass was freshly cut.  It had that strong, green smell.  An entire neighborhood block of houses can have that same smell, especially late in the spring, or early in the summer.  A jay bird, one of those brown ones, a scrub jay, maybe, walked right out into my line of sight.  It was kind of behind my house, but before you might think it was way back in the yard.  It looked at me as if to say, “Hey, man!  You cut the grass, very cool!”  It was cautious, but it didn’t seem scared.  I appreciated him, maybe her, I couldn’t tell.  I enjoyed watching the bird do its thing.  It ate bugs, collected a twig, a blade of grass, all the things jay birds do.  It was getting dark.  After a bit, the bird flew off to finish doing its bird stuff.  I’m often tired these days.  I’m still young, relatively.  I feel old, sometimes.  And, when I think about it, I’m okay with jay birds in my yard.

 

 

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