Mystery

Whether it is pecking at the bathroom mirror all the time or only when I go there is my mystery. What is the mystery in the sparrow’s mind about the bathroom visitors , their bodies wet in knowledge of a pecking sparrow? A sparrow tirelessly pecking at its reflection is a mystery , set against futility of its effort.

How a sparrow can be bird-brained enough to peck at own reflection, overriding past failures is a mystery that overwhelms bathing bodies. I cannot look the bird in its eye ,set too high and too tiny and only sense a light squirm in its body as I enter.

Overwhelmed by no mystery it squirms lightly which is the same each time I enter its space. The quest for mysteries is mine, not the sparrow’s.

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