Magpies in June

by D.F. Paul

There are no endings and no beginnings; just uncertain lines that criss-cross events, connecting one to the other. Sometimes the lines are memories relived when they assert themselves upon us. Sometimes they are the imagination in search of meaning. Sometimes they are magpies.

A magpie is just a bird. It exists in black and white, without any shades of gray. Its lines are resolute, forceful. One color ends and the other begins. In that way, it exists outside the complicated rules we’ve attached to our lives.

But the magpie is supposed to be one of the most intelligent animals on the planet. Unlike most, it can recognize itself in a mirror. It doesn’t see some phantom animal that has appeared from nowhere. It looks in and it knows itself. It is, at least in some respect, self aware.

This is me.

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