When I think of birds I think of birds flying in the sky. I like this word.
Chase Tesluck
What I think of birds are they can be different breeds and they fly in the sky.
Nicole
The bird are cool because when there chirping it’s a sign that it is a nice day out because of how there singing.
Cameron
When I hear the word birds I think of the ones that fly in the sky,because that is what I know them as.
Austin
Birds are pretty cool and have nice melody sniff you listen to them. Birds normally are very active birds if you feed them with bird feeder. Birds are marvelous creatures to watch and learn from.
Dereik
I love birds. Birds are one of my favorite animals. I get it from my grandma and my mom. My favorite bird is the blue jay. Birds are animals that have wings, feathers, and a beak.
Braden Hilliker
When I think of birds I think of the birds in the sky that fly in the sky.
Savannah
Birds are my favorite animal
Carsten
one bird flies after the other
theres no trouble
only when this desire for flapping together
begins
to double.
Love starts off sparse and thin
and makes way
to become husky
and musty,
sin will kill you fast, so they say,
but love will kill you faster
if you don’t learn to stray
when time begins to fray.
two birds, and one stone,
can become,
part of any man’s throne.
Dirds as a flock of birds.Do you no how meny birds are in a flock of birds?
Jacob
Birds are cool.There are different species of birds like Falcons, Hawks, Eagles, Robins, etc.
Wyatt
Birds eat seeds and lots of thing they are noise
aundrea Kelly
I like them they are cute
Skyla
I’m a bird that can fly weeeee. Go over there and fly we we kids this is fun
Gino
When I think of birds I think of robins wood peckers pigeons and all different kinds of birds but i think birds are awsome
Nikolai
Birds are really awesome and there are a bunch of different kinds of birds.
Gabe
The birds flew far away.
Payton
Birds are animals that fly and have wings that makes them fly.When birds are born they can’t fly.They have beaks to help them eat.
Charles Risdon
Two birds sat on a tree branch. They were as small as a sea shrimp. They continued to look at each other. The two birds were embarked on a staring competition. They locked eyes and fluttered their wings restlessly, daring one another to take a blink. The bird frowned and gave a menacing stare at the other bird.
Aya
She watched the flocks dip and soar over her and let her arms float above her head, laying in the soft grass, spread eagle and breathing deeply. She could stay like this forever. A shadow interrupted her thoughts as Jeremy stepped towards her and leaned down over her.
They dragged me into a cave those wretched birds. Their talons tore into my calf muscle, scraping against my bones. I had no idea they could be this strong. Scientists spent far too long creating these weapons of Babylon.
Birds remind me of my brother. He was always obsessed by the feathery little things. And my granddad who would burp and say ‘Bye bye blackbird’. I don’t know why, I think it’s a Yorkshire thing.
Birds are funny sometimes. Why? no they do not tell good jokes. They just are. Sometimes they take a good shit on you. No , that’s not always funny. But yeah if you look closely, birds can be really funny sometimes.
Sagar Parulekar
fly they fly through the sky
no matter which way they go
they kept going
not trot not walk but fly
let the angry wind blow
bb
The birds have all flown away. That was the first sign of trouble. Birds always know better than people. When to fly, and when winters coming. On the day he came home, they were all gone. Still I let him into my home, into my life. I should have listened to the birds.
flapping wings, harmonious melodies spread through the breeze on otherwise silent spring days, flashes of color throughout the green foliage, graceful movement throughout the skies. music portrayed in living form.
80 times per second. That’s how fast a hummingbird has to flap its wings to maneuver its long beak into open flowers. In the right conditions though they can flap more than twice that speed – 200 times per second – and can move diagonally, backwards, or even hover.
They use flight to eat, but they must eat to fly – in fact they have to eat half their weight in sugar DAILY – snacking, as it were, up to 8 times an hour. 250 breaths and 1,200 heartbeats per minute – the little bird is non-stop…but it all seems like a vicious cycle, created by nature for a point…What’s the point? Fly to eat, eat to fly, eat to live, live to eat, it just goes in a giant circle, and the only purpose it really has is to push forward to the next day, and the next, not even to say it could, but to live – in the most raw sense of that word: just to live.
How many days have I spent as though a hummingbird?
From the opening of dawn the flock flew over the carcass. The squawking birds picked at the flesh of the small dog. He whimpered as he struggled to pull away, broken hip from the car accident. It was tragic to see. I almost envied those birds and their ability to thrive.
The birds are chirping loudly outside my bedroom window, waking me up at 5am, while the first glimpses of sunlight appear through the curtains. I love spring. I love the reemergence of the sun, and the birds, and the leaves on the trees. Coming out of the darkness, and into my prime.
I walk into my room, into a soft silence I haven’t heard in years. I turn to an empty space in the bars, and in the pit of my stomach I know what waits for me. I look to the floor of the cage. He’s not supposed to be there. It’s not natural. Yet his stiff body after having finally let go, years in a little box, was the most natural state he’s had. I feel guilt more than sadness. A life looking out, handled so little it became difficult to do so. A house too small to be a home. Where it not for his predators having free reign of the outside, shouldn’t I have just left the door open? He could always come back when he was frightened; metal becoming a comfort and not confinement. I stopped cutting his wings, yet he never got to use them, until he finally forgot how. Perhaps with my own doors closed, I take for granted my power to open them still. I could have cared for him better; I could have let him fly. I could have let him rush as fast as the deadly snow I named him for. I could have not bought him at all, and rebelled against keeping the freest creatures on this planet in the harshest of confinements. I could have let him choose to go, choose to stay. I could have opened his cage, and I can open mine—but I don’t, not now. I pray that someday when I am older and figure out what ‘adult’ means, what ‘care’ means, what ‘love’ means, I also figure out how to have the strength to keep the doors empty and open, always.
I’ve never met someone quite like my 10 year old daughter. A girl who marches to her own drum. A girl who has a passion for our fine feathered friends of the world. Whistle a tune? She can imitate bird sounds with a level of expertise that surprises all lucky enough to hear.
There was a cold wind blowing against the stained glass window of the church, and no birds were singing; their whistling tunes would be drowned out by the organ player, who was practicing on a Monday evening, when only one person was in the confessional. The person in the confessional was young, weeping; in her hands she clasped a crystal rosary, trying to pray away a sinful part of herself.
Belinda Roddie
I fall asleep to their calling song, the night that kept me awake ebbs away and I’m left with nothing but exhaustion and the symphony of their waking song. Their day has just begun and mine will never even have the chance to start, because my vision fades and I’m left with the emptiness of my dreams.
birds, headphones
the sounds pour into my ears
drowning my fears
as I fly away
to safety
Steve O
The cat sits on the window sill of our place all the time, watching gulls and pigeons fly around outside. I don’t think he knows that he’s 22 floors above the ground, and I always wonder what he thinks the cars are that are moving below on the street. He’s a lot more interested in what’s flying above him, though, and when he sees them, his body goes into a pose that I imagine must be thousands (who knows) of years old. It’s something that happens to him that he doesn’t even think about; the way his eyes narrow and his tale starts twitching a thousand miles an hour and the way he releases this gutteral sound from way down deep in his belly. He knows he can catch those bastards, but what with this big window between him and these feathered things, that’s not much of an even match. He already knows what he’ll do with them if he catches them too; you can see his mind working a million synapses or something a minute. Then I pull down the blind and his mind turns to more attainable things. Like a nice can of Chicken of the Sea tuna, which isn’t really the kind of tuna he would choose if such a thing was possible. But he’ll take it. This is why cats have been around for so long.
ruby
i wish i could be a bird just to be free not having to worry about anything.
ian
She is perfect. Pale wings bursting across the sky and a song echoing through her mind. She is free and nobody shall cage her again.
freedom and the wind beneath her wings; she is perfect.
And though it breaks my heart to see her leave, the beauty of her song makes it all worthwhile.
Kate
I like very much all birds my granma and me had one. I like all pets not only birds. Specially the colourful
When I think of birds I think of birds flying in the sky. I like this word.
What I think of birds are they can be different breeds and they fly in the sky.
The bird are cool because when there chirping it’s a sign that it is a nice day out because of how there singing.
When I hear the word birds I think of the ones that fly in the sky,because that is what I know them as.
Birds are pretty cool and have nice melody sniff you listen to them. Birds normally are very active birds if you feed them with bird feeder. Birds are marvelous creatures to watch and learn from.
I love birds. Birds are one of my favorite animals. I get it from my grandma and my mom. My favorite bird is the blue jay. Birds are animals that have wings, feathers, and a beak.
When I think of birds I think of the birds in the sky that fly in the sky.
Birds are my favorite animal
one bird flies after the other
theres no trouble
only when this desire for flapping together
begins
to double.
Love starts off sparse and thin
and makes way
to become husky
and musty,
sin will kill you fast, so they say,
but love will kill you faster
if you don’t learn to stray
when time begins to fray.
two birds, and one stone,
can become,
part of any man’s throne.
Dirds as a flock of birds.Do you no how meny birds are in a flock of birds?
Birds are cool.There are different species of birds like Falcons, Hawks, Eagles, Robins, etc.
Birds eat seeds and lots of thing they are noise
I like them they are cute
I’m a bird that can fly weeeee. Go over there and fly we we kids this is fun
When I think of birds I think of robins wood peckers pigeons and all different kinds of birds but i think birds are awsome
Birds are really awesome and there are a bunch of different kinds of birds.
The birds flew far away.
Birds are animals that fly and have wings that makes them fly.When birds are born they can’t fly.They have beaks to help them eat.
Two birds sat on a tree branch. They were as small as a sea shrimp. They continued to look at each other. The two birds were embarked on a staring competition. They locked eyes and fluttered their wings restlessly, daring one another to take a blink. The bird frowned and gave a menacing stare at the other bird.
She watched the flocks dip and soar over her and let her arms float above her head, laying in the soft grass, spread eagle and breathing deeply. She could stay like this forever. A shadow interrupted her thoughts as Jeremy stepped towards her and leaned down over her.
They dragged me into a cave those wretched birds. Their talons tore into my calf muscle, scraping against my bones. I had no idea they could be this strong. Scientists spent far too long creating these weapons of Babylon.
Birds remind me of my brother. He was always obsessed by the feathery little things. And my granddad who would burp and say ‘Bye bye blackbird’. I don’t know why, I think it’s a Yorkshire thing.
Birds are funny sometimes. Why? no they do not tell good jokes. They just are. Sometimes they take a good shit on you. No , that’s not always funny. But yeah if you look closely, birds can be really funny sometimes.
fly they fly through the sky
no matter which way they go
they kept going
not trot not walk but fly
let the angry wind blow
The birds have all flown away. That was the first sign of trouble. Birds always know better than people. When to fly, and when winters coming. On the day he came home, they were all gone. Still I let him into my home, into my life. I should have listened to the birds.
flapping wings, harmonious melodies spread through the breeze on otherwise silent spring days, flashes of color throughout the green foliage, graceful movement throughout the skies. music portrayed in living form.
80 times per second. That’s how fast a hummingbird has to flap its wings to maneuver its long beak into open flowers. In the right conditions though they can flap more than twice that speed – 200 times per second – and can move diagonally, backwards, or even hover.
They use flight to eat, but they must eat to fly – in fact they have to eat half their weight in sugar DAILY – snacking, as it were, up to 8 times an hour. 250 breaths and 1,200 heartbeats per minute – the little bird is non-stop…but it all seems like a vicious cycle, created by nature for a point…What’s the point? Fly to eat, eat to fly, eat to live, live to eat, it just goes in a giant circle, and the only purpose it really has is to push forward to the next day, and the next, not even to say it could, but to live – in the most raw sense of that word: just to live.
How many days have I spent as though a hummingbird?
From the opening of dawn the flock flew over the carcass. The squawking birds picked at the flesh of the small dog. He whimpered as he struggled to pull away, broken hip from the car accident. It was tragic to see. I almost envied those birds and their ability to thrive.
The birds are chirping loudly outside my bedroom window, waking me up at 5am, while the first glimpses of sunlight appear through the curtains. I love spring. I love the reemergence of the sun, and the birds, and the leaves on the trees. Coming out of the darkness, and into my prime.
I walk into my room, into a soft silence I haven’t heard in years. I turn to an empty space in the bars, and in the pit of my stomach I know what waits for me. I look to the floor of the cage. He’s not supposed to be there. It’s not natural. Yet his stiff body after having finally let go, years in a little box, was the most natural state he’s had. I feel guilt more than sadness. A life looking out, handled so little it became difficult to do so. A house too small to be a home. Where it not for his predators having free reign of the outside, shouldn’t I have just left the door open? He could always come back when he was frightened; metal becoming a comfort and not confinement. I stopped cutting his wings, yet he never got to use them, until he finally forgot how. Perhaps with my own doors closed, I take for granted my power to open them still. I could have cared for him better; I could have let him fly. I could have let him rush as fast as the deadly snow I named him for. I could have not bought him at all, and rebelled against keeping the freest creatures on this planet in the harshest of confinements. I could have let him choose to go, choose to stay. I could have opened his cage, and I can open mine—but I don’t, not now. I pray that someday when I am older and figure out what ‘adult’ means, what ‘care’ means, what ‘love’ means, I also figure out how to have the strength to keep the doors empty and open, always.
My brother used to be big into birding,
but with him, things come and go,
and I think it ran its course.
My middle school science teacher
helped us to fill feeders for the birds who
flew through the woods outside our classroom.
On walks, sometimes, when I close my eyes,
you ask what birds I can hear,
And so I try to remember their names.
I’ve never met someone quite like my 10 year old daughter. A girl who marches to her own drum. A girl who has a passion for our fine feathered friends of the world. Whistle a tune? She can imitate bird sounds with a level of expertise that surprises all lucky enough to hear.
There was a cold wind blowing against the stained glass window of the church, and no birds were singing; their whistling tunes would be drowned out by the organ player, who was practicing on a Monday evening, when only one person was in the confessional. The person in the confessional was young, weeping; in her hands she clasped a crystal rosary, trying to pray away a sinful part of herself.
I fall asleep to their calling song, the night that kept me awake ebbs away and I’m left with nothing but exhaustion and the symphony of their waking song. Their day has just begun and mine will never even have the chance to start, because my vision fades and I’m left with the emptiness of my dreams.
birds, headphones
the sounds pour into my ears
drowning my fears
as I fly away
to safety
The cat sits on the window sill of our place all the time, watching gulls and pigeons fly around outside. I don’t think he knows that he’s 22 floors above the ground, and I always wonder what he thinks the cars are that are moving below on the street. He’s a lot more interested in what’s flying above him, though, and when he sees them, his body goes into a pose that I imagine must be thousands (who knows) of years old. It’s something that happens to him that he doesn’t even think about; the way his eyes narrow and his tale starts twitching a thousand miles an hour and the way he releases this gutteral sound from way down deep in his belly. He knows he can catch those bastards, but what with this big window between him and these feathered things, that’s not much of an even match. He already knows what he’ll do with them if he catches them too; you can see his mind working a million synapses or something a minute. Then I pull down the blind and his mind turns to more attainable things. Like a nice can of Chicken of the Sea tuna, which isn’t really the kind of tuna he would choose if such a thing was possible. But he’ll take it. This is why cats have been around for so long.
i wish i could be a bird just to be free not having to worry about anything.
She is perfect. Pale wings bursting across the sky and a song echoing through her mind. She is free and nobody shall cage her again.
freedom and the wind beneath her wings; she is perfect.
And though it breaks my heart to see her leave, the beauty of her song makes it all worthwhile.
I like very much all birds my granma and me had one. I like all pets not only birds. Specially the colourful