On A Cigarette Break

In this moment everything makes sense, and ye abandon all that ye been trained by mankind.

The birds have returned! they glide over a man hanging off the end of a cigarette- butt, in hopes it will ground him. They watch over the humming whisper of the highway, screaming and yelping for attention, for any passing drunkard or child to admire their flight.

An Oak tree drapes over the cigarette, breathing in and spitting out it's toxins so effortlessly, as it's voice taps on the smoker's shoulder.

"POP POP POP" a Woodpecker hides beneath the branches and depths of perception, as the awakened smoker hunts for a glimpse of where it barks unspoken orders. Cars and noises from daily planners are brushed away by winds, faint jingles of wind chimes in the distance direct his ears to direct his sight, but the Woodpecker's strikes end abruptly.

"POP POP POP" another taunt vibrates from the glory of the Oak, this time capturing attention from every hair on the smoker, every pore. He has found the Woodpecker, but the sky steals the sturdy bird's moment, as if the bird and tree only wanted to point his direction upward, to witness the power and perfection of God's work.

The smoker's memory struggles to find the last time he simply stopped, and surveyed the blue canvas above for more than a quick moment. Clouds hid above others not chosen for the moment. Distant winds gain momentum, pushing away all thought as the moment seized the individual. His phone vibrates, shaking his loose and empty pocket, careless of outside judgment, he keeps staring above.

A plane glides through the clear sky, as his phone continues to vibrate, it is mankind's world, collapsing on the individual, trying to point him back down, to the reality of finance and work, the glory of engineering and technology, telling him to respect the progress of mankind's struggle through the thick wilderness of nature, telling him to come back, telling him he has spent too much time looking above, telling him to fear above and return to safety and predictability.

The Woodpecker rests silently and steadily on the branch, though challenged by metals and industry, by the moving of dirt and the rational of modernity.

As the bird arrogantly puffs its chest in perceived victory, the individual smiles, basking in the comfort of life, and reflecting on all the petty attempts to steal worship deserved. He is fearless of the day, his internal struggle evaporates as external pressure looks infantile and silly. In this moment, he is free, and grateful for the Oak's doctrine, as the world hangs off it's course, unscathed limbs.

The birds celebrate and dance in space unattainable by the individual,as he ponders if they screamed for attention, or only belted joy and celebration, reveling in their own freedom without care of judgement.