A little bird told me

A bird landed on my finger today.

It happened very quickly.

I was reading in the park.  Cigarette burning in my hand.  Little finger raised.

That’s where it landed.  I felt its warm bird-feet balance, then close around me.  Sharp little claws.  But so gentle.

I was miles away.  Engrossed in the book.  Here they say “the moon over Valencia”. 

I shook the poor thing off, thinking it was…  well, I don’t know what.

The bird was on the ground, looking up at me.  I’d have offered it a scrap from the table, but there weren’t any. 

I have a mental picture: slightly taller than a sparrow, and thinner; breast yellow-green; small head, possibly brown with green cheeks; wings brown and yellowish-green, maybe.

I don’t think either of us knew what to do.  So we just looked.

Then it flew away.

Someone says it might have been a finch. 

Perhaps with a message: “Stop smoking.”

I’m an occasional smoker – on and off.  It helps with bouts of anxiety and tension.  I’m always on the verge of stopping, or starting. 

Maybe that’s it.

If so, I think I might know who it was.

This isn’t my first bird-encounter.