Summer is coming to an end. The shift is evident wherever I turn, outward or inward.
Months of busy vacationing are over; everyone is going home for the winter.
Storks are packing up, leaving their seasonal jobs behind, jobs of bringing happiness and babies.
Jobs they had for 40 million years give or take a few.
Storks have no syrinx and are mute, giving no call; such blessed, smart birds.
Silence is gold. That’s the secret. It kept them in the business for many terms.
When your job is as important as bringing happiness and babies, there is no room for complaints.
Storks and women have much in common, except women are not mute much to men’s discontent. Men take most of women’s attempts to communicate as bill-clattering, another stork-like characteristic. Storks were once thought to be monogamous, but this is only partially true. They may change mates after migrations, and may migrate without a mate, as most mates have not figured out yet how little it takes to make a stork happy.
Lucky storks, they get to go home for the winter. To find themselves. Home! Joy!
Their home is in the opposite direction of their summer jobs, somewhere on the top of the highest tower is their happiness awaiting, isolated and cozy; the tower sometimes built of solid bricks, and sometimes of wishful dreams. No one brings happiness to storks. That’s their job. And so they must fly home to find it.
I want to go home every winter; my summers are too busy bringing happiness. I want to go home where on the highest tower my happiness is waiting, isolated and cozy…with or without the mate.
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