The Bird and the Garden: One Strand

by Riles

After a few nights alone in only the light of the front room,

He soon felt the disdain from everything around him.

It then became his favorite pastime to give up and die at the same time each night.

Or was it to die at the same time a little more each night?

Perhaps like the bird he once watched decompose for six months in the front garden?

Digression.

Either way, it's a real spectacle. 

Especially to die for six months.

Or was it to die for a year?

Perhaps like the year itself?

I guess the difference is, in the case of the poor bird in the front garden, there is no rebirth; no new beginning.

Or is it rebirth? Is it a new beginning?

Imagine this:

What if the bird becomes a tree?

The very tree that helps to house another?

Or becomes the weed that a child picks for her mother in the Summer because her favorite color is yellow?

Now:

What of he who dies at the same time each night?

What if his purpose lies beyond what he feels (or doesn't) in the present moment?

Unbeknownst to him,

What if his death is the tree that will house another?

What if his death is the weed that will bring joy to a child that she will then spread to her mother in the Summer?

What if he, like the bird in the garden, lies down just for a moment or two?

To then come back as something more?

Or even something else entirely?

Something incredible?

Something new?

For he, it has to be true.