Saturday morning I woke up to fog and made pancakes while sending my new love interest an unintentionally mixed message over email. I ate the pancakes, considered whether this could be fixed with another message or only made worse. I sided with worse then lay on the couch for a moment of just being cozy which turned into a rather long moment of imagining what it might be like if he was there.
Eventually, I put on warm clothes and hopped on my bike for Bald Hill. There was nothing left of the fog but along the bike path a red-tailed hawk swooped off a power line into the grass. A downy woodpecker hopped around the backside of a tree by the trail.
As I parked my bike three ravens soared in an arc over the oaks and disappeared into the woods scolding each other.
The mud was thick on the side trail. The sparrows and towhees, surprised by my steps, darted from each side of the trail into the brush. Suddenly I remembered a dream I had with birds in it. He and I lay together—as if it was settled—and the haunting calls of Varied Thrushes sounded all around us as the room shrank, leaving just enough space for two bodies and the rest was wilderness.