I look out the window,
to the top of a tall palm.
The wind picks up
and whips it across the window.
Within moments, the wind
settles, and the branches
are steady.
Birds land among the branches,
picking at a bun
scavenged from a restaurant.
A few feet from my face,
I witness the beak tearing
pieces of bread from the bun.
Talons grip the branch,
a head darts up,
always vigilant,
always watchful.
Entranced by the colors,
work is forgotten.
The bird gains control,
a life so small
hypnotizes me.
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