Reaching

The little brown sparrow sits on the spindly branches of the tree.
Her brown and gray feathers have a story to tell.
The look in her black eye tells of plains, forests, lakes,
Or harsh cold, of lazy summers.
And as I watch her, I wonder.

What stories can you tell, bird?
Where have you been?
What have you seen?
I know you must have tales to tell.
But I cannot reach the answers to my longing questions.

Tell me, sparrow,
Does the scar on your forehead tell of bravery,
Or endurance?
Does the softness of your black eye tell of compassion,
Or timidity?

As I watch and wonder,
She flies.
Her little wings flap eagerly out into the distance,
To find new experiences,
And all I can do is reach.

Bird, I will never know your story.
But I can keep watching and wondering.
I can learn new things,
And I can keep reaching.