The Bird Song

Outside my window is a tree full of green leaves, some a little yellow with the glistening of the sun, while others more rich and dark with the coolness of the shade. It's branches wide and it's bark and trunk tall and sturdy. It has grown strong and bigger over time. I remember when it was just a twig.

On one of it's branches sings a bird. A song I do not know the words to but seems to awaken the soul. It sings and I watch it sitting there, still. Even though the branch beneath it's feet is swaying with the breeze, pushing against it, the bird sings clearly, throatily without missing a note. It does not look down to make sure the branch is still under it's feet, and it does not worry about falling. It sings with certainty that nothing about it can touch it or remove it from the place that it belongs.