yellow bird

half the day I had my nose buried in a crime novel, and half the day I strut down the cobblestone roads of Port Louis in wedge heels, which I now realize was a bad idea.(Katatanga nala) After all the systematic greetings and hullabaloo, I get comfy in a library chair and read again. Around five in the afternoon, I sit on a bench, waiting for the mum to come down. Beside me is a palm tree filled with nests dangling on the edge of the blade-like leaves, and I used to think they looked so pretty, like I could put lights inside the nests and make it look like a decorative ornament for the tree. That was before I noticed the yellow bird on the leaf, plucking every twig out of the nest, letting it fall. Now, I'm in no position to say that that little bird owned that nest, and I was just watching it do it's thing when I noticed another bird doing the same thing. Looks like they were letting the nests fall because they're about to build new ones. Talk about major reconstruction. Those were works of art, so simple yet so durable.

Good for them, they develop no sentiment of what was home. For them, it was just a place where they developed, and they moved on. Perhaps I should move on too.

What was once home is just another house. Home is where I want home to be.