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As Long as Birds Still Sing
We Still Have Hope
When the guineas came through my yard, they sounded like they were laughing or holding some kind of conversation I wasn’t invited to be a part of. It’s fine. None of my business what they were going on about. Sky might’ve been falling or something. Who cares?
It’s fallen before.
At one time there were twelve of them, and then there were five. Eventually, I moved from that house, and I don’t see them anymore, but while I was there, it was during COVID, and the world was different.
The neighbor who owned the guineas also had a couple of fairly large dogs who apparently had an unhealthy obsession with slightly fancy chickens. It’s not inconceivable the guineas were plotting ways to stay alive, but if so, it didn’t seem to be working out for them.
I don’t think they’re the rocket surgeons of the fowl world.
I’ve never heard a guinea sing, and I’m not really sure they can.
It seems like those particular guineas had probably gotten to the point where they’d accepted their eventual fate. Not too much to sing about, if they had the ability to croak one out.
Other birds still sing though, now, and back in the days of COVID. Amazing, really, when you think of all we’ve been through in the last five…
