The Wren, the Wren

by Anne Enright

Some people have bodies that are a bit dumb. And other people have bodies that are loud, talky or slightly bonkers; bodies that are always declaring themselves and sharing their news. Oh no, itchy! Gaaaahh!

The endless amount of time she had spent on this human being. Nine years of her own existence that she could not clearly recall – a kind of siren going off in her life for nine years straight.

The way to see the bird you want to see, is to stop looking for it, we all know this. You have to undo your gaze, let the bird happen without you. Be alert to blue.

The bird just was. Long before any of us were here, and long after we are gone, he did and will exist. When our lipsticks, our servants, our bleached and plundered coral are all dead or buried in landfill, he will perch on top of the lot of it and sing. At least I hope so. If we are very lucky, the bird will always be the bird.