Hope Surfaces

It flew to a branch and stayed.  It was a bird, judging by its silhouette, a common starling, and when it didn’t move, I asked myself, does it feel ill, coronavirus, or did it come here to die?  I was relaxed, with time to observe.  It didn’t move, but bobbed with the branch in the wind.

Where do birds go when they die?  You seldom see bird corpses, so I watched this bird for ten minutes, conjecturing about the short life of a bird.  A sudden gust of wind tore its silhouette apart, revealing two overlapping dead oak leaves, and my mental sallies came apart.

We construct mental castles from the reality around us, but I think I’ve put coronavirus down correctly.  Sure, it’s infected a tiger in the Bronx Zoo, but I know how to deal with it now.  Not everything the mind constructs is reality.

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