Bird Eat Bird: On Breath, Memory, and the Long Way Home

Jasper - Photo credit: Enzo Silon Surin

Malice! Malice! on every hill—even the ones where I gingerly walk with Jasper, who takes frequent breaks under a tree or a bush. I’m out of breath from the short climb today, when it’s usually a breeze. But this breeze ain’t breezing like normal, even this close to the ocean. Hence the air quality warning.

Malice on the lawn, where the hollowed-out remains of a small bird lead to many pulls on the leash. All that’s left is the memory of flight.

And this clipped-wing creature is now waste—

not only an animal,

but also an alien.

So I say a short prayer.

Did you know birds eat other birds?

I do this prayer anytime an ambulance goes by, sirens blaring—

and with this heat wave, it’s more often than not.

Malice is in every headline

as if it were planned.

Did you know a series of decisions doesn’t mean something was well thought out?

We give too much credit to ourselves when the world is all momentum.

We can’t take credit for the journey of chaos—

only for the decisions we make

or refuse to make.

I wonder whose conscience is still clear after last year’s election cycle:

Those who stayed home.

Those who voted like it was a lottery ticket.

Those who chose power—

or the adjacency to power.

Those who clung to it instead of moving aside.

It’s time they stood up

and took credit for their contribution

to all of this.

This walk is a short one,

but it feels long.

Jasper is taking more breaks,

and I pause with him.

Sometimes he finds a patch of grass to roll in,

letting the cool blades become his own personal ocean.

Which is to say:

even in all this malice,

there are moments of respite.

Moments to pause.

Moments to keep ourselves temporarily safe

and temporarily sane.

Because the headlines—

they keep showing us malice.

But we’ve always known:

it’s not just power that consumes people—

it’s people who consume other people.

And sometimes you can pray,

but the preying won’t cease.

It is consistent.

It is adamant.

Like the heat.

So maybe someone should declare an advisory

for the times we’re in.

Maybe there should be a sign that says:

ten cuidado.

Because there’s a difference—

a huge difference—

between a heat wave and ICE.

Between ice dripping down your neck,

and ICE breathing down your throat.

Between placing a few cubes of ice

into a warm cup of water,

and sitting in the luxury of awaiting air conditioner—

the latter gives us time to rest,

to breathe,

to think clearly.

And clarity is a luxury.

It means the decisions we make—

and the decisions we make about those decisions—

can be deliberate.

Precise.

Calculated.

Because not all of us are under duress.

Some of us—

get to rest.

Not many.

But some.

⸻

Meanwhile,

others are crying wolf.

Impeach! Impeach!

It’s all performative at this point.

Because if you look a bit closer,

you can see the apostrophe that’s missing.

What I’m trying to say is:

for some, it’s not impeach—

it’s I’m peach,

which is to say:

no sirens, no sweat,

no shame,

no complaints.

And still,

there are stretches of sidewalk

where no tree grows tall enough

to cast a shadow worth standing in.

So we keep walking—

Jasper and I—

not because the heat is bearable,

but because the only way home

is through it.

And sometimes knowing the route

is the only thing

that lets us pace ourselves

well enough

to make it.

He waits when I need to pause.

I pause when he needs to.

Neither of us

is trying to get through this

alone.

⸻

Some walks are more than walks.

And if the road feels longer than it should, you’re not imagining it.

In conversation, always,

Enzo 🙏🏾❤️