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Writing

A Small Brush with Greatness

I had to wait
more than 57 years,
but it finally happened…

a wild bird
landed on me—

or more precisely,
on the edge
of my journal—

but since that journal
was on a cushion
on my lap,
and I had been
writing in it
for most of the morning,

it felt like
an extension of me.

And when the pine siskin
swooped down
from a nearby redwood,

landed on the top edge
of the journal,

and fixed me
with his
intense little gaze,

his bright black eyes
were only a foot away
from my brown ones.

So close!
So close!

Although
he was small in stature,
(no more than five inches
from head to tail)

he was a powerful presence,
a force of nature,

and I knew
in my bones
that I had
experienced
a brush with greatness.

 
   

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