Real as Life Itself

Never before had I a seen a statue so radiant, so beautiful. Mesmerizing, if you may. Something about it portrayed utmost emotion. A dignifying source of defeat.

Face buried in hands, his fingers looked rough and dry. I could have sworn it was real man. Dirt had piled in layers and traced his every crevice and crack. He was kneeling. Not as you would before a king or queen, but in despair. As if he had just lost his most valuable entity.

I circled the statue and gazed at its fine amenity. A pigeon rested upon his shoulder, proud and regal. At that moment, nothing could have conquered the mighty pigeon, small as it may be. In an instant, it fluttered away and didn’t look behind him. The statue was a thing of his past.

Taking counsel from the bird, I looked towards the statue a couple moments longer, and proceeded on my way to work without looking back. As fine as it may have been, there was no reason for me to stay and admire its beauty.

We could all learn a few things from a bird.

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