Bluebird Down

          The trees look different when you’ve got your feet out in front of you and your wings spread wide in an effort to slow down.  I knew I was coming in too fast, but there was no time for adjustment. 

          Those were my thoughts just a few minutes ago.  I lay here now on a mixture of pine needles and dried leaves.  Not much of a cushion when you think about it.  And trust me, now that I’m laying here, I’ve got plenty of time to think about it.

          I guess I should start at the beginning.   That, according to my calculations, would be last Thursday.  I was looking forward to Friday and the start of a brand-new weekend.  What?  You thought only humans looked forward to weekends?  Not so, my good friend, not so.

                                       ~~~~~~~~~~

          I started this story just a day ago.  I didn’t know why I was writing it or where I was heading, but just after putting pen to paper, as they say, I received a phone call telling me that my nephew had fallen from some scaffolding and landed on his garage floor.  He suffered a great deal of damage and is now in intensive care.

          There was no soft bed of old leaves and pine needles.  There are damaged wings, broken bones and the intense vulnerability of crashing into a world you weren’t expecting to be in.  I don’t believe myself to be psychic.  The only things I have ever been able to predict with any degree of accuracy have been those things that were blatantly obvious to everyone.

          I don’t think I could handle knowing things.  I believe there’d be an undirected sense of urgency that I wouldn’t know what to with.  That’s a poor sentence but you get the drift.  The responsibility would be intense. Do I say anything?  What do I say and to who?  There are way too many voids in that entire psychic world.  The biggest being, what if I’m wrong?

          I have abandoned the falling bird story and am focusing on Pythagoras Theorem, A2 + B2 = C2, believing that the nurses and doctors are working with all the tools in their bag that have proven results, leaving logic, reason and skill to repair the effects of gravity,

          while I reflect on my grip and the diameter of that branch.

          Z. Corwin