Birds

Listen! Can you hear it? Something doesn't sound right? I can no longer hear the birds singing. But still the old lady sits and listens and laughs and enjoys. She sits with her red bowler hat and her fluffy maroon overcoat, holding her hand out like a porcelain statue, waiting for the birds to pluck the individual grains from her shimmering palm. She hears them sing.
Filled with rage I become. Why her? Why! My mind explodes with envy, discontent, and anger. What does she have that I don't. What makes her so much better that she can hear the beautiful sounds of the calling birds.

I go to that old lady sitting there as she always does. That stupid smile on her face causes the corners of her mouth to seem an eternity apart.

I ask the old lady, "Ma'am, what is your name?"

She replied with a soft and gentle voice that made all your unease melt away, "they call me by many names". A bird fluttering their wings approaches the palm with such comfort and familiarity. With out hesitance the bird lands and seems almost at peace with the old lady.

I asked the old lady, "how come you can hear the calling of the birds? Why do they choose you and not me?"

Again She replied with that soft gentle voice, "They don't choose, you do."

How dare her! How dare her say that I choose whether I want to hear the birds or not. Of course I want to hear the birds, but I can't. I have concentrated so hard to hear that lovely sound. Those sound waves that massage you ears.

I asked the old lady, "please ma'am what is one of the names that you go by?"

The old lady turned her head to look at me. Her eyes staring deep into my soul and everything that I am. The world around me seeming to almost slow down. I could see the air brushing against the birds wings. The leaves surfing through the air as the feel to the ground.

The old lady look at me and said, "you can call me Love."