Birdwatching

Everyday I go birdwatching, I see them- Seagulls, Geese, Humming birds- Flutter and puff out their wings, To soar the tinted sky- Dancing along the clouds like small jets, Or the carefree glide of paper aeroplanes. I watch as their wings carry them- Steer up and down- Allowing Petrels to dive and splatter- Into the water. An apprehensive dove's feet teeter-totter at the edge, Perhaps it had not yet learnt to fly? Though does not every bird with wings learn to decorate the sky as I would learn to a bike? Does it matter whether the fowl was pushed off a branch, Or learnt to swim against the tide of the sky with a leap? The bird stretches it's wings, Feathers caressed by the wind as a mother would her child. It lingers, And leaves, As I do myself. Everyday I go birdwatching, I see them- Pigeons, ducks, swans, They greet my feet with pecks or kisses, As if I were their own. My gaze drifts upwards- As it always does- The same dove sits, Very still, As if the bird was capable of fear, Does it question if it will survive the jump? Or if it'll soar the skies like those before? Is it weary of the impact? Or dream of life as a Phoenix? The bird flutters and puffs out it's wings, Watching those already playing on the clouds, It's feet- paws- claws, Scratch against concrete, It sighs, I giggle, And stretch my wings out for the last time.