I feel a wave of dread flush over me. It isn’t a fictional telling, just a perspective. When I imagine a flock of birds flying up in the sky, I imagine skyscrapers and small birds colliding with them. Large birds too, like geese, swans. I imagine at least less than there used to be. At least hundreds at some point. Maybe this was inevitable, so all I can do is move away or turn my head. It puts me into a pigeon-hole.

Conservation shouldn’t be this difficult, but the pigeon-hole is just the hole the pigeon can make a hole for itself. We navigate around each other, and I would say orbit, but this requires space we don’t always have. That skydiver who didn’t clear the bridge, but has done it for years. When we fail to take the right spaces, the spaces take you.

It feels good to submit to sleep sometimes, knowing maybe I will show back up tomorrow. Sometimes I dread going to sleep because I know I won’t like tomorrow. Every day can’t be perfect, but we imagine perfection like we have already seen it. Since nothing is going to surprise us, surprises are just new world views we can’t deny. The truth can get stale if we know it won’t change.

Even your favorite foods might change one day. What stops you from changing your favorite color?