A bird

A bird
hits the one window
in my office
that doesn't have
a screen,
(full speed,
from the sound of it),
and leaves a
greasy grey smear
outlined in fluff
in the shape of
it's head.

I look
at the ground below.
It lies
stock still,
for a moment,
then staggers
about.
Then sits
with it's wings stretched out to the side.
Then shakes and hops.
Then
flies away.

I am
humbled by
it's survival.

And reminded
to be persistent.

(Sept 13, 2010)

Ann-Patrice Hickey