Birds seem beautiful until flights of frenzy
There is this little sparrow who visits me every workday. He (or she, I really don’t know, to be fair) swings by around 8 a.m. or so and then again about 9ish, typically. He sits on the ledge of my windowsill and sings. Sometimes he even turns his head and chirps straight into the office, almost as if he’s looking directly at me, trying to tell me something. I love him. I look for him every single weekday morning. His squeaks and whistles cheer me. Then there are those big brothers of his — birds of prey, I believe they are often called. You know, those majestic, regal ...