She was cute. Adorable even. So small you could fit her in the palm of your hand or slip her in your pocket where she would be warm and cozy and only the top of her little head would show past the hem. No one ever tried to put her in a pocket, of course, but I always thought that if someone asked her she would happily oblige. I’ve thought about asking her, but whenever I get close to her small, fragile frame and her tiny, sunny face, I can’t. She would probably think I’m weird.
I see her everyday, and I think about her too. She’s not easy to forget because she is so small. I think about what is happening to her and sometimes I worry. What if she got swallowed up in a shadow or got tangled in a spider web? Her little limbs would struggle with the gauzy maze of a spider’s home and her eyes are so miniscule that I can’t imagine her being able to see the brightness surrounding a shadow that she might have stumbled into. I always wonder about what she eats. Her mouth is so slight that I would be surprised if she could swallow even a tiny grain of rice. She couldn’t possibly drink out of a straw because her mouth has about the same circumference. She must take dainty little sips, probably of water because anything else would have too powerful a flavor. If she ate something that had more taste than even a little berry, I couldn’t imagine her body being able to hold it all in.
I think about what she thinks about. She couldn’t possibly have more than one important thought an hour. Her mind couldn’t hold all the information of one day. She might have to make room somewhere else in her body like in her heart or in her tiny delicate bones. I bet that if I threw her up in the air, she would float on the breeze and glide over treetops and roofs and lampposts. If she was so full of thought, she might not be able to float. It must be easy to be so small, and not have to worry about thinking so much. I think too much, and that is probably why I stay on the ground. I am sometimes jealous of her, but every time I get home and let her out of her cage and watch her hop over to me and ruffle her hundreds of little feathers, I forget being jealous and think about how each feather is unique. I think about how lucky I am to have my small little bird that could fit in my pocket be so beautiful and I hold on to her for one more day until she is ready to fly away.