top of page
  • Writer's pictureReuben Berger

The Bird that Flew

I had rented a beautiful loft on the top floor of an Old Victorian House down in Yorkville along this journey. I called it the 'House of Artists'. Having to come in through the main entrance, I got to know this beautiful family. The mom was a Tango dancer, the son a musician and one of the daughters an amazing artist. And there I was, the writer in the loft. For sure one of the best places I have ever lived in my life. We sure need more places like that. One day, there was a little drama on the porch just outside the sliding glass doors.

A little bird lands on the porch and tries to fly I called my grandmother “What do you think I should do?” I asked. “Let it die in peace,” she said. “Perhaps I should put it out of its misery.” “No, you’ll feel bad if you do that,” she said “Alright Boobie -- you’re right.”

The bird was quite still on the porch it barely moved. it looked scared it was vulnerable to attack

I went out for a few hours the bird was alone now

Later, I didn’t see the bird but then I noticed a movement at the far end of the porch and a moment later as if it was waiting to show me that it was okay it flapped its wings and flew through the leaves of the giant tree and was gone

I stared death in the face and then saw it fly away.

Every second of life is to be cherished no matter what condition one may be in.

10 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All
bottom of page