Brown Bird Of Hope

Hand pressed to the frigid glass,

Nose a mere inch from the window,

My eyes searched for a sign,

Any sign that everything would be okay.

.

Where was my bluebird of happiness?

Did such a creature exist?

.

All external noises were muffled,

Yet I could almost make out a faint birdsong.

Maybe, at that point, the chirping was a figment of my imagination.

Still, I longed for a sign.

.

Would a bluebird of happiness appear before me?

Would the dreary gray of a cold September afternoon, clear up enough for some hopeful rays to peek through?

Would anyone come, bearing a message of hope and inspiration?

.

At that moment, I desperately clung to my final shred of hope.

I felt as though the entire world had turned its back on me.

I felt swallowed up by my grief and growing fears.

I longed for a sign, any sign.

.

No bluebird of happiness ever appeared,

Instead, a round little brown bird landed across the yard,

My fingers braced against the glass,

Desperate, hope so apparent in my eyes.

.

I willed this tiny bird to come closer.

It hopped over, landing just below my window.

‘Hello, Little Brown Bird!’

Tears began to fall down my cheeks as my fingers pressed to the glass.

.

For some reason, that tiny little creature restored my hope.

In my mind, I was thanking him for coming to visit.

Against all logic, I found myself attempting to send this bird all sorts of messages.

.

Nonsensically, I wished that he could carry them away to their intended recipients.

Loaded into his beak like so many seeds gathered from the ground.

.

The following morning, my feathery companion returned,

And he continued to do so for several days after.

His presence gave me hope when I was grasping for it from the pit of darkness I was in.

.

Each day his presence brought me comfort

Even as I wished for wings of my own.

Every time his tiny wings took flight,

My hopes followed suit.

.

They would take to the sky, scattered among the clouds,

And as day inevitably turned to night,

I would imagine it was my dreams, my hopes, my far-off happiness, shimmering there among the stars.

That my little brown bird had given them wings to fly free.

.

I ached for the ability to do the same.

To have the strength to soar above it all.

Each day I awaited a sign,

Maybe Fate was waiting for me to choose my path.

.

For my strength to be restored until I could retrieve my far-flung seeds of hope.

Until then, they remained scattered on the canvas among the cosmos.

Shimmering with the silver sparkling essence of hope,

Golden dashes of dreams mixed among them.

.

Now I endeavor to retrieve them, one by one,

Hoping to encounter my feathered friend along the way.

To have the chance to say thank you for appearing on that dreary day.

.

I have pondered over each little brown bird ever since.

Wondering if he or she is the very same one.

Is that my companion from that darkest of Septembers?

Logical or not, he is now a symbol of hope that I shall always remember.

. . .

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This poem was originally published on Medium.