“A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song.” ~ Charles Lindbergh
What if a bird came
and landed right on my outstretched palm.
What if it just flew through the door
and appeared,
resting gently onto me.
There is more time between the existence of the Tyrannosaurus
and the Stegosaurus
than the Tyrannosaurus and us.
What makes dinosaurs so interesting?
Is it the necessity for imagination?
This bird would be small and colourful
It would have appeared here,
in this unlikely place,
just as I have,
by coming through the door.
Exquisitely fragile, each feather would be perfectly
placed.
It would preen itself
upon landing.
And the curve of its neck would reveal
a lightness to its down
contrasted with the bold-coloured strength of its wing-tips.
This bird.
This precious bird.
Relaxed and calm
despite its unnatural surroundings.
Soon it will be a memory,
dug up and conjectured upon.
Like the dinosaurs.
