Looking out the window the other morning, I spied a pretty little bird watching me. We shared a moment before I continued with the dishes and got ready for work. But then the next morning there he was again, spying on me from behind the same bush.
He was adorable and I felt honored to receive such attention from a wild creature.
Then this morning, I caught him spying again.
“Honey, come look at this – it’s the bird I told you about.”
My husband kept his head in the paper, lop-sidedly smiled and pretended not to hear.
“I mean it, come look.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“If I look, then it’s all over.”
“The magic. Your joy.”
He took a deep breath.
“Okay. But I’m only telling you now before you get too attached.”
I nodded. “Okaaay.”
“Remember the visit to the hardware last month?”
I nodded again.
“And remember the plaster statuette of that bird you just had to have?”
I paused, blushing deeply at my mistake. How could I honestly have thought the plaster bird was alive?
But then the bird flew away. And that’s why I remain optimistic – because if a plaster bird can turn into a real bird, then maybe there’s hope for me yet.