Zai Jian

When I was young, magpies were my favorite birds. They looked exotic with their stark black and white feathers, and I convinced myself they were graceful. I remember the day I told my mom I loved magpies. She made an incredulous noise. "Why?"
"I think they're pretty," I said, a bit defensively. I asked her why she seemed so confused.
"Well, they're scavengers, you know. They eat other dead birds and stuff."
"Oh," I said.
For some reason I have never forgotten that. Even though magpies are everywhere around here and their calls sound impatient and anguished and I saw one eating a dead robin once, I still secretly think they're beautiful. They're not even very graceful as they jostle for space on rooftops and sort of careen down at you from out of nowhere in the parks. But to me, they'll always be exotic and mysterious.
Yesterday, my friend told me I find beauty where others don't. All I could think of were the magpies.

Youlagy -- Volcano Choir