Meditating with Birds

I knew a man once who invented a thing that could bring the sound of the birds

from the outside of his house to the inside.

How strange, I thought, my friend has too much time on his hands.

My friend’s name was Bob. I suspect it still is.

Bob came to mind this morning as I sat on my front porch for my morning meditation.

It is getting very close to raining:

grey, still, a vague sweet smell, bird chatter lazy.

I thought how much I love doing my meditation outside where my senses hold me in place

like braces that keep a house from sliding off its foundation.

Minnesota summers are short and precious, intense and much appreciated

though the citizens don’t dare express this

I know that I will have to go indoors when winter comes.

Where I will sit in a box before a fire while the sun rises

And listen to the familiar hum of the refrigerator.

Bob, in his box, will listen to birds.

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