If I Was Ever Going To Kill A Bird....................

it would have been yesterday morning.

At 10:45 am I was slouching down the path to my (temporarily) mid-size crossover luxury SUV Acura MDX, head down, shoulders slumped, to begin the commute to HELL/job.

I was sandwiched between two snow banks of immense height. It was cold. The path is one shovel-width wide.

After the fucking blizzard, the weather got warm for a bit. The path became a river of mud. We would sink into mud up to two inches high on our fucking shoes. We were shunned by polite society.

Then it got cold. The path froze. When I walked it yesterday it was like stepping on the craters of the moon. In addition there was plenty of ice. So I was walking like a 90 year old man - tiny, tentative steps to avoid twisting my ankle in the craters or slipping on the fucking ice.

As I got close to my (temporarily) mid-size crossover luxury SUV Acura MDX, a bird over my head began to sing. Merrily. As if it was really spring.

If I had a gun, that bird's feathers would have fluttered to my feet and I would have kept the biggest and the prettiest as a souvenir.

I am not a country boy and don't know the difference between a buzzard and a sparrow.

But I'm pretty sure this bird was a mockingbird.