Swan River Birds

I kind of miss nature.

Singapore is a Garden City, of the manicured green and brown. Coloured flowers are sprinkled here and there by hand. Trees planted in perfect unison and spacing along the highway and residential roads. Each tree is like picture in an art gallery, spaced out, admired (and sometimes not). The grass is neat. And on a path people take often, it will eventually be decided that cement be poured over it to create an official footpath.

I miss sitting in front of the birds, seeing them peck at the fruit that falls from the tree above me. The waves lap gently before me as the yachts hung anchored at a distance, bobbing with the quiet excitement of the deliciously clear water. I want to reach out and drink from the river.

Only that 1 hr did I sit like that. If only I didn't have to go back so soon. I could sit and think, reflect and write, and read. It would be as refreshing as the happy sky.

The birds seemed to not mind my presence. They let me take up their feeding space. They let me watch them play, run and chase each other, observe the personalities of the birds, and they watched me watching them. They let me sing to them with my rusty, soft, untuned voice. I wondered if they understood what I was singing about. Yet they continued to watch me innocently, their eyes seemed amused and patient.

I have never felt that close to a bird. It seemed ridiculous to say that. Their reputation of being bird brained did them no good. They did seem so childish and aimless. Yet, they made me realise the life outside the city. There is life in places outside brick walls and tinted glass. They helped me slow down the rush I've learnt to build up inside me.

Now, I don't have to do anything. Just be.

I'm touched to see this plaque nailed to the bench I was sitting on. Someone dedicated it to their parents who loved the river. This bench sits facing the river under a shady tree.