Bird patterns

writing in the breeze

Hi!

I had a very slow morning - and managed to not feel guilty about it. Because, usually, I manage to stress myself out about time every morning. And for what reason? None, really. My work changed to be completely at my own pace back in the fall, and it still feels kind of weird to not have a time to clock in, to not have a specific time to get things done, any day of the week. Which means, a lot of days, I waste a lot of time doing everything I possibly can before I get started, which then leads me to feel like I need to have a strict routine for myself to stay productive. But also - it would probably be easier (and healthier) for me to accept I’m more productive and motivated at night! That slow mornings could actually help me relax and then get more done later! So, I’m trying. (I’m never going back and reading these letters in order because I do not need to see a week-by-week playback of me saying “I am trying to do this thing,” over and over! Sorry to anyone who keeps up! I’m trying!)

Adam got up at 6 a.m. to leave for a work trip, and I had big ideas about getting up with him and having this super productive morning. Instead, I stayed in bed as he showered and got ready, and when he moved to the living room to get all his stuff ready to go, I dragged myself to the couch and stayed half asleep there until he was ready to leave and said, “You should go back to bed,” and walked me back to the bedroom. So, I said goodbye and promptly fell asleep for another couple of hours.

Anyway, instead of being stressed about not getting up until 9:15 a.m., I was simply grateful that I was able (both responsibility-wise and physically, as a bad sleeper) to fall back asleep when I was super tired this morning. And yes I’m behind on my self-made schedule. And yes I skipped my morning journaling pages to write this instead. And yes I still stopped writing this to do other things before finishing it, but still! But does it matter? No! Writing these things down always makes me feel like I sound like I’m unwell, but it’s actually just tiny thoughts throughout out the day that sound a lot more dramatic in writing! (And also I had a bunch of notes about what I was going to write about this week but then I ended up having a bunch of other stuff I needed to write, so I didn’t have the time to sit here and put all my nice notes together! So, rambling again! Oops!)

So, I spent the morning and the early afternoon with the balcony door open, listing to the birds chirping, as I slowly ate breakfast and got through some work and called my mom and and and. And for anyone that hasn’t been to our apartment - there are a million birds nearby. Before sunset, they line up on the top of the building that our balcony looks out at. They fly in swooping formations around the area we live in. Most of the time it’s not an issue - other than the one time a bird flew into the apartment! It flew right out at least! Or the time a freaking hawk killed a pigeon on our balcony! (That one scarred me forever, but it is what it is!) But really - for how many birds that’s not so bad! (It is. But still) Anyway, I was thinking about how the birds are peaceful in the morning but a bit unsettling in the evening while I wrote this week’s poem. So, a draft:

BIRD PATTERNS

Morning sun through blind creases
and an open door in February.

The same birds that float,
changing art, dash wild at sunset.

They're calm. Chirps notes added
to the Bleachers album

I keep refusing to turn over.
Repetition vibrates against walls.

What causes birds to surge
at night? What are they saying?

Exactness smashes beauty
if I'm the one who stands as judge.

You love to Google and I love to wonder
until you tell me the truth.

Neither of us search bird patterns
or travel down explanation.

I wait for the wind to slam the door
but there isn't a budge.