2024
I keep my eye on the sparrow, instead of the distant horizon. It’s a part of me—small, hopeful, and searching—yet obliged to pause, to take notice, even to acknowledge the effort it takes just to keep moving. In those rare moments when it stops, it sees me, ‘I know what you seek.’ And so, I follow, finding a deeper purpose not in the endless chase, but in the quiet gift of being recognized by the journey itself.
‘You’ve become my shadow—steadfast and eagerly underfoot, finding conviction in exciting misdirection. More interested in leading me astray, if only for a moment, to add intrigue to your aimless discovery. You pull me headlong into the depths, as far as I’ll permit, questing to know more than before yet content to know little at all. My shadow, loved and cared for, keeps me honest. The sparrow travels on, correcting your gaze and reminding you that this journey belongs to us both.’
The sparrow’s wayfaring leaves me yearning for something addictive—a low that I’ve never truly known, yet miss all the same. An unnatural deterrent to progress or a chemical distraction from self-betterment. It’s not that we crave demise, but we long for the thrill of justified missteps. My words misrepresent the sparrow and betray my own heart. Here I am, longing aloud for times I regret. The sparrow has found a worthy compatriot in me—a companion in my shadow.