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The Feathered Zimbabweans

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Birds of a feather flock together. Strangely, I’ve found companions amongst the feathers on the farm. There is just something about these chickens.

 

Back feathers. White feathers. Brown feathers. Green feathers. Their brilliant colors seem to never end. The feathered rainbow calls me to never stop searching for more colors.

 

Noise catches their attention. Immediately, the chickens run as fast as they can. It is as if the whole world will crash if they don’t get there first. The feathered sprinters call me to run and not grow weary.

 

Necks of beautiful color arise and feathers extend. When you see this, you know that someone has been pecking around too much. I saw many feathers fly today. The feathered peckers remind me to keep a stiff neck in a world of injustice.

 

Flight comes from the full extension of wings that are not made to carry the bird too far. It doesn’t matter. The chickens repeatedly kept going for it. In the midst of a world trying to keep you grounded, the feathered flyers encouraged me to keep extending my wings.

 

Chicken toenails are fierce. The brilliantly colored legs look like they are ready to survive whatever the world brings. While neither are all that attractive, they combine to help the bird take on the shit. The feathered trailblazers pushed me to dig deep and push through.

 

When I picked one of the birds up, I felt the presence of the divine. God made these birds to be words of life to us all. I’m not too chicken to listen.

 

Amen.

 

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