The singing tree

When I walk up the road this tree/bush/shrub is alive with joyful bird-twitter.
I stop and stare into the depth of it and then I see happy little sparrows hopping about inside.
The longer I stand still the quieter they become.
They know I've seen them and assume I'm a threat so I walk on.
I wish they knew I am not a threat and were happy to sing in my presence.

I apologise to anyone who may have been ruffled my my butt-sniffing comments yesterday, but it is a source of great conflict for me. I'm very aware of how priviliged I have been, growing up as a middle-class white Londoner – I also know that that privilige is halved by being non-male.
When I was 19 I spent several months in Israel working as a volunteer on a kibbutz, which put a whole load of “how the world works” into perspective. More recently I was a Greek taxpayer during the height of the financial conflict with the Troika.
The result is that I do not believe it is anyone's birthright to inherit the bounty of the patch of ground on which they were born. Without borders, everything should be shared more fairly, and border control staff would need to find fruitful jobs.
Unfortunately, this is the system we live in, and we can either destroy it or get in step.

Assuming we won't destroy it in my lifetime, and I shall be forced to trade in real estate to fund my future, then I'd like to plant a yellow bush filled with happily chirping sparrows out front.