Strange Bird

No one knows me here. I am like a foreign bird
blown off by the wind.

In the valley of the sun, I forage lightly among
the rugged hills, hoping to draw scarce attention
to myself, but its no use.

I am a Yellow Oriole walking around between the
rocks. I cannot hide myself. My brightly colored
feathers stand out among the brambles. There
can be no mistaking me.

To compensate, I shall walk the ancient trails and
foot-paths. I shall map the seasons. I will study the
local birds, and learn from their wisdom what berries
to eat. I will inquire which predators stalk prey for
meat, then learn my best escape from them.

And when the mountain faces become familiar to me,
and the rocky foot-trails imprint upon me; when I
become accustomed to the warmth of the low-
hanging sun; then I shall call this home,
with my yellow feathers and all.