I remember reading once how baby birds, when they are young,
have droppings that harden quickly, in a lump, so that parents can dispose of
them outside the nest and keep things tidy within. But as the chicks mature
their excrement softens, so that by the time they are old enough to leave the
nest it is a messy and unpleasant place. They have an added incentive to leave
the safety they’ve known and enter the wide world.
I feel something like a little bird right now. I’ve been
taking things down and packing them up incrementally, until now there are very
few corners that feel homey and cozy. The loneliness is still sweet, but the
cold anonymity of bare walls and the clutter of bags and boxes are unbearable.
How do refugees stand it? There are people in the world who want nothing more right
now than to stand still in one place for a while, and be safe.
Remind me I am a pilgrim.
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