It was sometime after breakfast this morning when I suddenly remembered that today was my birthday.
Drying up and putting away the dishes, I thought of how the last time I heard my father’s voice was 14 years ago, when he called the only cellphone number he had for me and, getting no answer, left a birthday message.
7 months later, he was dead.
As these thoughts fled through my mind, I heard a rapping at the font door.
There, bashing itself against the glass pane was a young Olive Thrush. Too immature to know about glass, I guess.
The chick looked at me as it hurled its body against the door, fell to the ground and disappeared.
The Olive Thrush – quintessential Capricorn bird, in my mind.
Just as my Dad was.