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I don’t like birds there loud,and and I also don’t like bird watching.
By Sam on 05.16.2017
I hear them Cherp on sunny days and I hear them in summer and there chirps are like music. I see them in the trees and I hear them on the rooftops around town. Birds are can be big and small. I like the way birds fly in the sky.
By Shawn huey on 05.16.2017
I’m a bird. Tweet. Tweet
By Cassandra Ellen bower URL on 05.16.2017
the birds were all over the city, no one knew what was happening
By Rosalia on 05.16.2017
The birds were chirping to one and other. I was annoyed by it I wanted to sleep in but forget that idea. The birds were all different colors, yellow, blue, and red.
By Jaylen on 05.16.2017
migration is an interesting thing. upending your whole life, because all those around you are doing the same. somewhere you were comfortable and safe is about to become inhospitable and deadly, so now you must leave, travel the globe and live somewhere else for a time. then you will come back, when all is right again.
By Riann on 05.16.2017
but what if you didn’t leave, what if you braved the storm, alone. surely that isn’t preferable to having your family and your tribe with you. migrate, start again. Fly with the other birds. and all will be well.
But what awaits you? I can’t know that, but the birds do, they are going from familiar to familiar, not safe to unknown.
There are a lot of birds in the world. Some blue, some black, some red, and some white. Small ones, big ones, tall ones, round ones. The world is full of so many birds. That’s what it’s like – the world. Full of so much more than we can even imagine. So many look to the stars (and there is so much out there as well), but forget to turn their heads and look at the world around them. Every piece of our planet is so much more complex and fascinating than we could ever imagine. Even the birds.
By Brian W URL on 05.16.2017
Birds are an animal that flies through the sky and builds nests in trees. Since they don’t have hands like us humans do, the use their beaks to grab sticks, mud, leaves, and anything they can find to build their nest.
By jaycee on 05.16.2017
I had this one yesterday. Here’s a different take. I sit next to a guy at work who comes from the UK. They call women birds over there; I’m sure you’ve heard that. “This bird had flown,” is my first recollection of a Brit saying this; the Beatles, Norwegian Wood. I’m turning now to ask my Brit friend if it’s a good thing or a bad thing to be called a bird. Frankly, I’m not caring too much for it. What’s a man over there called? A bloke. It has a nice sound to it. Something rowdy; a guy in an unkempt suit, wending his way through the streets of London on his way to the pub. Very cliche. But let’s keep following him. He stops by a tailor’s on his way to the pub, for no other reason than to get a good look at the new bird they’ve got working there. No, more than cute. She’s beautiful, really. The way she slides the plastic over the newly pressed clothes is lovely. He imagines her doing the reverse with his clothes. This bloke on his way to the pub. On his way to love and unimaginable pain. You want to tell him to keep going, but he’s here in the story and you can’t have him just go on his way. Why should his life be any easier than the rest of ours, hey?
By ruby on 05.16.2017
birds, again, chirping
and the lapping of the lake
through open windows
By peri on 05.16.2017
the bird is nice
the bird is good
the bird is cool
the bird is yellow
the bird is little
the bird is big
the bird is live alone
By hermelinda on 05.16.2017
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.