And The Sparrows Have Water

It's a hot day; triple digits, they say; too hot to be out. I have to be to work later.

I clean out the birdbath and fill it with coolness. As I walk away I turn to look back. A little female is already there. And the sparrows have water.

The grass looks at me with longing, turning brown. The tomato plants ask If I'll spray them today or wait until tomorrow. I promise them tomorrow. And the sparrows have water.

I can't sleep at night without medication; can't wake up without coffee and allergy pills to "fill in" for medication. I'm awake and feel dull. Life is out there waiting for me. And the sparrows have water.

I go to the store, buy food for my pets; they have all they need. I buy cans of tuna for myself. They have no idea things are this tight. I don't want them to. And the sparrows have water.

I stay up as late as I possibly can after work so I can sleep, if nothing else, from exhaustion. I get up in the morning and feel the familiar drain. One foot in front of the other. And the sparrows have water.

I walk out to the yard, look around myself, and look at the birdbath. Empty again. They drank it all. I reach for the hose, fill the bowl with coolness. And the sparrows have water.

I wonder when the day will come that I don't feel like this. I wonder when the day will come that I am me again. I wonder when I will have "water".

In the meantime, the only thing I feel control over, I do.

The sparrows have water.