Silly Humans

Jun 09, 2022
The hummingbird darted around the limbs of the oak tree, looking for his life partner.
He spotted her hovering above the terrace, directly over the man and the woman who sat at the cedar table, deep in conversation.
“They’re at it again,” the female bird said.
“No way,” he responded. “Same tape?”
“Same tape. He’s trying to do the right thing and she’s helping him see through his confusion.  He’s a mess.” 
The female bird looked at her mate.
“Why do you think they complicate everything so much?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Humans are so weird.”
“From what I can gather, the love of his life left him.  
He’s not sure if it’s because someone else is involved and that’s messing with him.  
He’s not sure if she was the right one anyway because if so, why wouldn’t she want to stay and work it out—at least give it a solid effort.  
He’s not sure if she’s having a mid-life crisis and if that would or should change the course of events.  
He keeps repeating the same ramblings over and over, pulling apart every detail, fighting the urge to blame himself and his failings. I’ve heard the stories so many times, that I could almost narrate them myself.  
What a broken record.”
The tiny bird nuzzled her long beak against her mate’s neck.
“I feel sorry for them,” she continued.
“Sorry for who?” the male bird asked.
“Humans. They take a simple concept like commitment and make a humongous, distorted jumble of it all, with layer after layer of inferences, tiny rips and tears that erode the essence of a beautiful, clearly attainable ideal.  
They fail to pay attention and convert joy into suffering in such a casual way.” 
“Nothing casual about suffering,” the male bird said, nuzzling her back.
“No.  The casual part comes from taking the painting they originally said they wanted and allowing tiny cracks to slowly convert it into a mosaic, disjointed pieces that fracture and eventually, destroy the vision.  
Then they quit.” 
She paused.
“They quit, and think that if they merely pick up a brush and paint again, the landscape can look different—even though they don’t stop to examine why the last painting dried up, cracked and ended up in ashes on the ground. So sad.” 
“Big bold strokes look brighter,” noted the male. “Much more fun than cleaning out cracks.”
“Only until the same cracks show up again,” she retorted. “And they always do. If you don’t take time to evolve the painter, the paintings will all turn out the same.”
“Can’t go there.” The male bird declared. “Seems such a waste. I think I like my philosophy better.”
“Oh?” The female turned to face him beak to beak.
“You’re stuck with me, babe,” he smiled. “Until the honey dries out.”
“Beat you to the flower bed,” she challenged and took off with her mate directly behind her.
As they flew over the terrace, the lovebirds glanced down at the man and the woman.
They were still talking.

That's A View From The Ridge...

Best-selling author, Ridgely Goldsborough has written 19 books to date, 5 on emotional intelligence, and has developed a phenomenal program called that you can get absolutely free as a member of the Groove community. Also, visit Mind Types for a FREE and fun quiz that will give you a new perspective!