I had a thought: What do birds think about?

Seriously, I mean, I’m watching Ophelia sitting on her eggs (in the nest that she built on the top rung of the ladder that we have leaning against our shed), and I can’t help but wonder what the hell she’s thinking about as she’s sitting there. Is she wondering if the eggs will hatch little boy birds, or little girl birds? Is she regretting not visiting her mother more often? Is she wishing that she had tiny thumbs so that she could be knitting tiny bird sweaters while she incubates her eggs? Is she wondering why she chose to get involved with a male bird who was so charming to begin with, but turned out to be a negligent dickwad after she had given up The Goods to him that night after he had taken her to the pier and kissed her under the stars? Is she thinking about that night and silently wishing that she had tear ducts so that she could show her sadness to other birds who are flying by in the hopes that they stop and see how she’s doing, and bring some take-out or frozen lasagna with them, because given that she’s a single mom now it’s not like Ophelia can just get up and go to the store or anything, because she can’t abandon her eggs like that and she wouldn’t have to even be thinking about any of this if she had just listened to her mother who told her to ‘keep her legs shut’ until she found a man who would love her as much as her father loved her?

Or maybe she’s not thinking about anything at all, and the sound inside her head is kind of like what you hear when you put a seashell against your ear at the beach.

Or maybe she’s thinking, “Tweet. Tweet. Tweet tweet… tweet. Tweet tweet” or some variation on that theme.

I have no idea. I don’t speak bird.

Happy Friday!