I was watching a girl
She had taken out a paper
And some colours
She looked around
Not knowing what to draw.
This was when a little bird
Came scuttling down
From a lower branch.
It wasn’t a sparrow
Or a crow, or raven
Or any other I knew.
It ****** his head to a side
Picked his wings
And flew at her.
It perched on her arm
Still perking his head
Examining her.
And then he said
Something his language
Which she didn’t understand
Nor did I
But it was approval
Maybe friendship
Mostly the latter
Because it stayed there
On her arm
Admiring her paper.
She looked pleased
It was not something big
But it was something
She might have loved
To remember.
The girl took up her pencil
And started to sketch
A little frail body
And then a beak
Then a long slender tail
Then the wings
And the beady eyes.
Her lines were sloppy
Each stroke trembling
The eyes like eggs
And tail like leaf
She looked at it
And she probably thought
What I was thinking
But then she looked at the bird
Which tapped on it
And danced a little
As if pleased by the effort
Of his new friend.
She was pleased
And I was convinced.
She rolled it up
And put it in the bag.
The bird flew off
And I had to go.
Now I remember
Suddenly, it’s been a year.
I wonder if the bird remembers
Of the encounter
But I remember
Because I know
The girl remembers
Or I think so
She’s my neighbour
And wakes up each dawn
To scatter little grains
To a flock of birds
Which look exactly like that
And once she’s done
She waves at them
Then pulls the curtain.
Now I think
The imperfect drawing
Was better than an empty paper.

~ Adritah