(18)

little bird little bird, perching at the tip top of a thin black branch, a line against the amorphous gray sky. how long it sat there, i don’t know. a moment? less? i just happened to look out the window while it was there, a tiny silhouette against the clouds. i knew from its outline that it was a hummingbird, even before it levitated up from the branch and hovered like an insect, just for a second, then zipped away from sight. i imagined i could hear the high-pitched chittering sound they make as it vanished.

and if i hadn’t turned to look out the window for those exact few seconds, i wouldn’t have seen it, and i’d be writing something else right now. of course this is an utterly mundane observation. the entirety of life is like that. but, still, it wows me to think about the dependency of every single thing upon every other. the cascading nature of this procession of moments, all of which could so easily could have happened differently. and the proceeding moments, all which then happen in certain ways because of how the moments before them happened…

there is a rock on my desk which i took from the desert when i visited tucson in december. it’s red and white and seems to capture the general vibe of the landscape i took it from. this rock sat unmoved for perhaps thousands of years, or maybe hundreds of thousands–or else only a few days, when another hiker kicked it across the path–however long it sat, it was there in its element, it its own section of time, with all the cactuses growing and the jackrabbits birthing and the rattlesnakes rattling, and perhaps now and then brushing against the stone. it was connected to all that happened around it. until, i plucked it up out of its element and set it on my desk.

how long though until it is back in its element? how long will it sit here? until i’m fired for writing at work, and i leave it sitting on the desk after i pack my things? until my replacement comes and goes, until the company shuts down and the building is abandoned? until humanity fades and the years roll on and what used to be my office collapses and crumbles to dust? until every bit of evidence we ever existed is grown over with moss, and green rules the earth again?