Bright morning outside my office window today. Sky blue, clouds scant, full of scent and maybe full of food, but this invisible barrier is in his way for getting to it, and he (or she, I didn’t look that close…) is making a hell of a din. A monotonous buzz made by its superfast wings, starting as it starts from the bottom of the window, interrupted only by it banging its head constantly (the advantage to not really having a brain, nothing to ache, nor having the sensation of pain in I suppose) at least twenty times, perhaps many more per journey, from the dingy, dusty but surprisingly cobweb-free unseen depths behind the ornaments scattered on the sill, to the top again, for the fifth or sixth time–but there’s still no escape, information processed simply, reduced, for him/her/it, to ‘it is lighter in that direction, that is sky, I can go there‘ but it’s not working for him/her/it.

Photo by Hert Niks on

I have, within reach and at the ready, my swatter, a necessary aid to my world’s peace in the warmer summer months, but, feeling magnanimous today, feeling a bit Zen, no harming anything living for me today, simply not wanting to be the agent of any death, particularly anything that will leave a splat mark, I just open the office window and gently encourage this insistent biological buzzing machine outside, into the garden air to freedom, and watch — with a barely raised eyebrow in some small recognition of how life often offers such ironic but darkly funny moments — as my generous gift of life is passed from one being to another, and then onto a swallow, bringing up a new family out in my garage, as it swoops by, feeding low above my front lawn and taking a small snack onboard in the shape of my former life-gifted annoyance.

I reflect briefly, on how difficult it is to do the right thing, even if you are trying to do the right thing, but decide that there probably isn’t a right thing, there’s just what you do, and what you don’t, which is neither wrong or right, it’s just what is, and you just deal with the consequences of whatever you did or didn’t do. There’s probably a German word for that (fliegetotschalbezufrieden? fly dead swallow contented…)

From behind the ornaments, on the windowsill, there’s a buzz.

2 thoughts on “buzzfeed

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