I feel. I do. Because I feel, I no longer can not care about another bird being in his life. Now it affects me. It makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me feel like secrets are being kept. I can no longer ignore the background noise that increases as each day passes. The wind will always come and go. What’s funny about this wind is that it either lifts me up and pushes me forward, or it pulls me back and causes this fragile bird to crash. He seems to soar with the wind, no matter what turbulence is sent. God tends to call me back time and time again. He’s the tree where my home resides. He’s the refuge in the storm, the place I can fly to when I need a shelter (Psalm 16). He’s the tree that brings life to me, that sustains me with the food I need to eat, with the river that flows right next door (Psalm 1:3). I fly back and apologize to this giving tree. I stole his twigs to make shelter elsewhere. I left and abandoned what was only good to me. I thought what the rest of the world had to offer was better, but I was sorely wrong. How I was reminded of Ecclesiastes again. The wind overtook me. I came back.