The Sing of Freedom

The warm beams of the rising sun lighted the undergrowth that had grew claiming back the civilized soil of my backyard. I wondered how nature could chose a place surrounded by a brick-and-mortar walls and crowned with a wire fence as the place to seed life. Its depressive, I thought about how men turn the marvel of nature into a trashcan.

I sat to admire the misery of the workmanship of men when a visitor arrived. It was a crimson cardinal of bright plumage that landed elegantly on a tall branch of undergrowth and devoured the little fruits while sang a beautiful melody.

Poor bird, I thought, so far away from the forest, living trapped in this ecosystem of concrete and steel. Then I wondered if the singing could be stained with melancholy by longing for the wild, but found none. Its singing was pure happiness and beauty, the cardinal was unaware of the gray and dull environment we—as humans—so diligent surround ourselves. The only thing the bird could see was life in the shape of a undergrowth that we find disgusting and unappealing.

The cardinal extended its wings and flew through the diamonds of the wire fence, free, like the undergrowth that chose to grow in a spot of soil absent of concrete of men.

Sometimes I wish I could fly free, away of the boundaries and constructs of men. Then I remember I am free, but still choose to sit on the grass beholding the moving clouds framed by the wire fence.

Waiting for the cardinal.

Waiting to hear the beautiful sing of freedom.

M. Ch. Landa

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