The world outside my window is full of life. Life that I’m thoroughly disconnected from. Living in the city you hear the ins and outs of the daily lives of all manner of man and beast. From the frantic scurrying of the urban squirrels along the ground, in the tress or balanced precariously on the telephone wires to the mob of power walking mommies that have just dropped their kids at preschool who talk nonstop amongst themselves with great passion as though trying to suck up every moment of adult interaction they can before they go back to singing songs from kids’ shows and checking to make sure little Suzy has washed her hands after she goes potty.
The crows survey from above and swoop down to pick at a shiny or to chase a squirrel away from a nut and the local alley cats make their strange bird calls hoping to lure them back. To lull. To catch them. Most of those cats wouldn’t know what to do with a bird if they caught it. They’re city cats. They get two fat bowls of food a day. Have litter boxes. Get their claws clipped and their coats brushed. But they follow their base instinct. To hunt that bird. That mouse. That big brown spider that would tickle in their mouth.
Cars zip up the street and around corners with haste this time of day. As though the hour makes pedestrians and kids at play an impossibility. Bigfoot or the Abominable Snowman. Merely rumors. Myths.
And somewhere in a tree little birds sing their songs above it all. Singing to themselves, to each other. Are they oblivious to the world around them or just insulated for a moment? Like me.