A Bird in the Hand

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bird in the hand

holding a bird in my hand A little feather friend, catching his breath and soon to fly off

Sometimes the universe speaks to you in subtle almost inconceivable ways and other times it has no time to flirt with your awareness level and just drives the point home, ASAP.  My recent telegram from the cosmos was delivered with a striking thud against my back porch window in the form of a fragile little bird, its weight so indiscernable that if my eyes were closed, I’d believe my hand to be empty.   Stunned, the little bird needed immediate rescuing from my two curious bulldogs and a flock of culpable crows.

Nestled in a dish towel tucked in an old Tupperware bowl, Icarus was safe. His eyes gained brightness  slowly as he perched quietly and calmly. As adages go,  “A bird in the hand is better than two in the bush.” speaks to a consciousness that sometimes escapes me. The richness of what I have should never be discounted for that which I contend to be better even if out of reach. It took a little bird’s poor navigation skills to enlighten me that day, but once he was sure I got the message, he flew off into a bush, where no doubt an awaiting mate completed the pair, and the proverb.

2 COMMENTS

  1. Hmm. I have a bird story that involves a Slavic janitor, a pigeon, a bandage, an empty frozen-food container and a sign that read “don’t eat.”
    Remind me to tell you that sometime. I wonder what that message was?

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