Present with a pair of Cardinals reveals the possibility of a serene existence. A mistake to focus on the male. It is the unit. Their vocabulary of calls and songs swell the space around me. I’m trapped in a narrow footpath by overgrown bushes. Male and female a complimentary palette fly through and across the footpath. One after the other. The other then leads again.
Home. I think about that walk last month. Barber shops closed. I take a pair of shears and clippers to my head. Not exactly a Cardinal’s crest but groomed.
What is my song? “Chunky monkey for dinner again? I admit to the premeditated crime.” Those aren’t the lyrics or the title. There is a song. One I forgot was mine when I realized I could no longer sing.
The pair of Cardinals continue their dance thriving in and out of the dense bushes. Their songs live independent of their surroundings. Nothing will contain their calls. Why do I allow anything to contain mine?
We have a song. Inside or outside. The old world or this new one. I will remember my song.