December 11, 2021 forced to be somewhere you're not supposed to be

It was freezing cold outside. So cold. I know what it's like to be cold. To be out in it and no relief and there's warm and warm spaces every where, entirely empty warm safe spaces, but you're not allowed to go there. No respite it's so cold and it only gets colder until well into the morning, not until 9am or so is there a warming, and even then, it's so cold you just get colder despite the change, you need a break. You are forced to be somewhere you're not supposed to be. You don't want to cause trouble but you're so so freezing - FREEZING cold. There's not anyone around but you're visible to anyone who cares to see, and obviously you've got something strange you're up to, else you'd be inside, and you look unkempt, guilty. There's no room for your life; you literally don't fit, there's no room for you and no desire to make room. No reason to.

I gave the bird a few chunks and little crumbles of blueberry muffin. Some water In a dish low enough for the bird to get to without difficulties. Oddly, I don't know that we ever made eye contact. It looked at me, of course. And I remember looking into its eye, strangely red-rimmed, dilated or something. But no connection of our gaze, not really.

The contact from its foot felt warm, light, clean. Gentle. It was surprisingly loud, shuffling down the hall. Clumsily flying towards the wall-mounted TV, wings loudly and chaotically beating as it leapt and fell, never successfully gaining a foothold. It also tried for the wall-mounted coat rack at the end of the hall, by the front door.

I left the front door open a wide crack, maybe 1/3-1/4 open. Bright white winter light beaming in from the overcast sky, the uncomfortable cold was thick, like an invisible wall being pushed into our oblivious, sleepy, white people warmth. The lone bird kept itself as hidden away from the cold as it could, late into the morning. Obviously needing warmth, obviously something wrong. I know, little bird.

I hoped the warm air from inside would give the bird some reprieve. It pecked away at the muffin.

I walked to the end of the hall regularly, to see if there was a change in bird- was the warm helping? It had seemed to, its feathers became less puffed and protective defensive, its posture more curious and relaxed. It seemed to be moving easier, more freely.

I must have frightened it off eventually, or maybe the bird became ambitious and went off to try and accomplish something. The last time i went to check on the bird at the other side of the open door, it was not there.

I was mostly relieved to close the door to the outside, locking my son and I back in our privileged habitat, so easily ignorant to the reality of the season, of nature, of this world as it actually was. Of the truth.