I walk barefoot along the gravel path though the snow has already covered it
Not to take away its beauty but to replace it with another kind
I walk only to watch the birds as they greet each other on the branches above
It is an entirely different world up there
Oh, how I wish I could shed my measly arms for a pair of those blue wings
If not to touch a rainbow but possibly a cloud
They seem so happy being above us; so small and yet always looking down
But maybe it is not their wings that make them a treasure, but their voice
Oh, how I wish I could trade my voice to sing a tune as sweet as theirs
It is like a whistle but sweeter and more complex in the way that it brings children out in the summer and daffodils in the spring
But it must not be their voice, for all birds can not hum such a sweet tune
It, of course, is their presence
The color they bring to the branches when all of the leaves have left the branches bare amazes us
Or the way you slam a door and they all take into flight as if giving you a grand entrance
It is their small eyes that take in the whole world to be more than it is
Oh, how I wish I could trade my eyes for a pair more appreciative like theirs
I would be able to see the world in vibrant colors and not the washed out ones I see now
But I am okay in my place as long as they are here
If they just stay in my presence I will have hope for another day, another walk