v4

No one quite notices the sparrow darting in and out of the eaves of the roof at the bus stop, 

not the lady working on her laptop while waiting for the bus,

not the old man with the Super Mario schoolbag, holding his grandson's hand,

not the jogger pounding the pavement to the beat of the music in her ears,

not the gentleman walking his golden retriever with the non-stop wagging tail, 

not the driver waiting for the stragglers

flagging his bus down from afar,

not the teenagers shoving one another, tumbling their way to school

and not the rest with eyes glued to their phones, scrolling their time away.

Meanwhile the bird flies to and fro,  carrying twigs and dried leaves 

from the bushes behind the bus stop

and from the trees across the road,

her twittering 

the high notes to complement the bass of this

morning's traffic.

The sparrow busy building its nest in the crevices of the bus-stop 

and us, building ours in each nook of our high rise flats, 

we are not always aware of the other, 

our petty squabbles,

tender kisses,

the hungry mouths we feed,

the news we share of our days

spent outside this nest 

to fortify it,

and our tired caresses at day's end.

To us, she is just another bird. 

To her we are but part of her background.

Each to its own and 

yet 

we are together, a community.

her babies chirping every time 

her wings part the air around them the accents to the melody