If I told you the river here is my one and only love, would you believe me? Would you even think it possible?
When I met the rodeo cowboy last winter, I think my heart mistook him for the river on the first day of spring with its blooms and birdsong and the promise of a new beginning. My eyes confused him with the unshifting horizon at sea during a turbulent storm. I fell in love with him without it even being a choice, but something as natural as spring and fall migration.
From spring to spring I forewent migration and stayed by his riverside foraging, living off the crumbs he’d give me. I think he mistook me for a bird. I could only live on crumbs and seeds for so long even if the alternative was nothing. So I left though I’d promised him eternal spring, and I went back to the only true river I know.
If I told you the river here is my one and only love, would you believe me? Would you even think it possible?
My Love is for the Birds - Sketches 