Parable

I’ve started talking to birds. They talk back, and I think I’m

getting better at translating their tongue. Of course it could

be like prayer—just talking in my head and then answering

myself, no notion really if what I think God is saying to me in

response is actually what God is saying. We make up stuff.

But I’m an optimist in God-prayer, so I will be in bird-prayer.

I asked three jays this morning if I should expect great things.

They glassed my eyes and jayed: Beware of beautiful strangers.

As soon as they said it they bolted as birds are prone to do,

leaving me with a coin of possible truth on my tongue and no idea

how much it’s worth. It tastes coppery, so I’m guessing not much.

Then again maybe I’m to take the coin and trade with it in the

marketplace so when they jays return I will be found faithful.

The wren on the fencepost sighed and said: We make up stuff.