Feathers and Silence

There was a bird in the house the other day.

In the wood stove.

It came down the chimney.

This isn’t the first time,

but it has been a while.

Maybe a couple years.

But this time was different.

I wasn’t freaked out.

And I may be presumptuous

on the bird’s part,

but she wasn’t freaking out either.

I was calm.

So was the bird (seemingly).

I closed the blinds,

shut off the lights,

and opened the front door.

Then I opened the door to the stove

and waited.

It first came to the edge

looking at me

then looked at the doorway.

It was drawn to the light (but aren’t we all).

It chirped

and then took flight.

It did a 360 around the room,

then sort of hovered

for a few seconds,

looking at me,

while I looked at her.

The sound of her feathers

in my house

is difficult to describe.

There was no other sound

for a few seconds.

Just a bird

fluttering.

Feathers and silence.

It was beautiful.

Then it turned

and flew out the opened door

and she was gone.

And then it was silent.

Again.

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