Repeating

Sitting here I’m listening to one particular bird song. It’s one I’ve heard at least a hundred times. It’s funny how I seem to remember each note as it’s repeated until it’s done. The wind is blowing from the northeast a change from yesterday’s westerly flow. I assume that means the low pressure we were under is moving. Maybe the birds are having the same conversation. Like old man on a park bench talking about the weather or politics. But I assume that conversation would be way more animated.

I still find myself asking questions of love and purpose. Questions about obligation and the depths to which taking care of one’s needs simply becomes selfishness. I find comfort in where I am, yet I also find myself desiring more. Wondering if the absence of one truly is the absence of wholeness? Maybe I’m stepping over the bounds of comfort and longevity. But these are the questions I find myself asking every day.
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To those that may feel like minded, I have no concrete response. On many occasions I’ve found myself teetering over the edge of safe judgement and blind faith. Hovering ever so close to chaos, yet always finding myself pulling back. Maybe it’s as we’ve told each other a thousand times. To cross the line would somehow ruin the perfection we see. But we know good a damn well that’s not the reason. The true reason is that we were never really separated. Physically yes, but never spiritually. Love like the dance of the wind, is ever present. Love like the song of the birds, that bears repeating every day.