Bird Poop and Comfortable Cages
The first time is good luck, the fourth time is a message
It feels noteworthy to share that I’ve been pooped on by a bird 4 times in the last 12 months. The second time felt like good luck. The third time, a few months later felt unfortunate, and the fourth time felt like a message.
I was walking to the gym with a busy stream of consciousness running through my head, confirming I’ve missed nothing on my to do list. My body held a resentment for my overwhelm as my skin soaked in the chilly sunshine on the crisp August morning.
A pair of tui bounced on the branches of a brightly blooming Taiwanese cherry blossom tree. They caught my attention. My own chatter stopped, and I listened to them ravage the flowers as I walked closer — I needed to cross to that side of the street anyway.
I want to be that carefree.
I want to be that free.
I smiled and relaxed into a more present state of mind as I walked under the tree. My second of peace was promptly interrupted by the splatter of whatever my new bird friends just digested. It was ejected at the perfect height and angle to somehow get my hair, forehead, jacket, and hand.
Had to be a message.
