Peter Neil Carroll Falling in Love Is it the tree that catches the light or a red-breasted robin that rubs the buds to sprout. Six days before Valentine’s, the birds are back, zipping from Magnolia’s fruit to the chartreuse willow branch, first to nibble on, then to digest and recall the spontaneous pleasure finding itself reflected in the glass at my front window, cooing to that stranger cooing back, and selfishly I think it had fallen in love with me, as another romantic robin had done last year, remembering what my religious neighbor once said, you can fall in a hole, but not in love. Welcome home my near-sighted bird.
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