The Bird

Dear Laura

It was a simple breakfast really, as far as breakfasts go. Poached egg, a slice of toast, jam, and a cup of tea. It wasn’t about that. It was just that I am not habituated to eating breakfast. It is usually a cup of coffee upon waking, another cup mid-morning, followed by lunch at noon. I have heard horror stories about people who suffer from acid reflux after missing the most important meal of the day. I have never encountered any such problem. And yet, this morning, there it was, the breakfast – prepared by my own two hands and laid on the table, ready and waiting. I bit into a piece of toast and sipped on the tea. I thought about the effortless way in which the slight shift had slid into my life, as easy as a change in dinner routine from 8 pm to 7 pm or choosing to replace a walk in the morning with a swim. I wondered what had prompted this change – the opinions of others or the natural progressive changes in thoughts and convictions that occur with age. Changes exist even in the little things if we care to observe. And yet, I remember how shocked I had been when I woke up that morning to your hastily scribbled note by the bedside and an empty house. Why couldn’t I just imagine the change to be a bird taking flight, watch it soar higher and eventually disappear from vision? I realise now Laura, the size of the bird doesn’t matter. It is the letting go that does.

Franz