A lesson

As the golden sun rose I rode my bike late to church, standing on the pedals for speed and focus.

A large truck redirected my normal route so I passed a road I usually don’t bike, and noticed a house set back from the street. Large, dark, and the windows were all broken, unusual in my coiffed suburb.

Playing from the openings I heard: scores of birdsong–happy, mischievous, lively little beings, cheerful and oblivious and reckless in their summer song pouring out of the jagged glass frames.

I thought to myself: there’s a lesson in this.

But I was already late, so I rode on.

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