Invisible Walls

No floating feathers.
No dazed bird on his back.
Just an imprint on the large
glass window, evidence of
a contest with an invisible wall.

The other day I hit a wall,
but I saw it coming.  The bird
didn't.  I had already begun to
apply the brakes.  I knew what
was about to happen.
The project had gone south,
nothing was working like it was
supposed to, my interest was
drained, all resources depleted.
I looked up and said to myself
"That's it.  Finished."

Thud.

On the other side of an invisible wall,
clear transparent glass,
things usually look so good,
so easy, so manageable.
Just reach out and take it.
Come and get it.

But it's not always that simple.
Invisible walls hurt,
body and emotions.
Ask the three hummingbirds
I've picked up from the concrete
patio after each bent his beak on
the glass door.

But,
a little tenderness, a gentle stroke or two
on the head, an encouraging word
seem to work and off they
fly until the next invisible wall
comes along.

They happen.
To everyone.
Feathered friends,
folks like me.
They hurt.
Life.