One unseasonably warm day, while I was outside contemplating, self-reflecting, possibly drifting into a mild existential spiral, he appeared.
Wilbur.
Unexpected, because in all my time on that terrace, I had never seen a bird other than a pigeon. Not once.
He caught my attention immediately. I looked at him. He looked at me. It felt like we were both assessing the situation.
He stood there for a while. Calm. Unhurried. Almost as if he sensed I could use a bit of company.
We gave each other space to simply be.
After some time, I went inside and grabbed a bag of peanuts. I placed them down quietly, certain my movement would send him flying.
It did.
But he came back.
He ate the peanuts. He stayed a minute longer.
The next day, he was there waiting when I stepped outside to sit and be.
And so began a beautiful friendship.
