The water hit Lucas’s skin with calculated precision: the exact temperature, the water pressure a measured force. This was his first act of the day. It had to be deliberate.

“Start the day winning,” he thought, “then you win the day.”

Then coffee time. Two shots of espresso. No milk, no sugar, nothing to dilute the intensity.

“I’m a well-oiled machine today,” he mused, checking the clock with satisfaction. 7:14 AM. On schedule. “If everything goes well today, I can start spring cleaning this evening.”

The train platform swarmed with fellow commuters. Familiar faces moving along familiar routes, too absorbed in their own journey to acknowledge each other. The same carriage, same seat, the familiar jolt as the train pulled away. The precise routine reassured him.

“Run the day lest it runs you,” he reminded himself, putting his headphones on to listen to his favourite podcast.

A sign warned of a detour that would affect him the next day. He would have to get off a stop early because of railway works. A spanner in the works, a roadblock on a well-charted course.

“This should have been done over the weekend,” he fumed inwardly. “This is going to add to people’s already long commutes.”

The workday was as chaotic as usual. Increasing workload as well as interruptions. Rumours of impending doom for the company. He often wondered how people could be so creative with ways to disturb the peace.

Back at his apartment, the evening was meant to be a restoration of order. Quick workout, a carefully balanced meal, then tackling the backlog of reports. Spring clean will have to wait.

But there it was, intruding on the manufactured quiet – a high, insistent chirp.

“How dare you encroach on my space,” he grumbled, pushing boxes away to shut the balcony door firmly, in an attempt to silence it.

The next morning, the detour forced Lucas into noisy, unfamiliar streets, a slice of green he’d never noticed before. A cacophony of sounds – birdsong, children’s laughter on their way to school.

He walked briskly, immune to the charm of these new surroundings, rushing to the familiar chaos of his office.

Days blurred into a begrudging new pattern. The chirp in the evenings, the detour, the park assaulting his senses each morning. Until finally, it was the weekend. No escape into the office, no excuse to ignore the boxes looming in a corner and the bird squatters on the balcony.

“Let’s just spend 10 minutes on it,” he grumbled, attacking the boxes with simmering anger fueling his movements.

Then it emerged, a flash of forgotten blue amongst the dust – a drawing from his childhood. It was startling, joyful, and it triggered a wave of nostalgia.

“No time for sentimentality,” he scolded himself, pushing the memories away.

Yet, he could not toss the drawing to the bin. He stared at it, reminiscing about his playful creative young self. Back then things were less uniform, less muted.

When he glanced towards the balcony again, his focus shifted from the annoyance of the chirping to what it signified – a nest. The welcoming of new life.

He was done with the spring clean on the Sunday as the first stars glittered above the city. His mind much more at ease, he opened the balcony door a crack to truly listen.

He was feeling a sense of openness for the first time in a long while.

The insistent chirps now felt softer, like a kind of lullaby. They spoke of newness, of persistence, of a cycle he’d been standing outside of for far too long.

The next week felt different. There were still days where the detour made him clench his jaw, when the neatness of the office was a false comfort. But there was a softening. A tentative reaching outwards.

He had noticed this elderly lady perched on a bench each time he crossed the park.

She was observing the surrounding trees with binoculars. Eventually, Lucas found himself asking, “I’ve noticed you looking at the trees, did you find a nest?”

“Indeed. A raven’s nest. Have a look, anything surprising?”

He tried to answer but was none the wiser. The raven was busy arranging its structure. “Ravens are very clever. They solve puzzles, they remember people’s faces…fascinating creatures. This raven is using man-made stuff, there’s cardboard, cloth, even some plastic.”

Lucas’s eye widened in amazement. They exchanged pleasantries and he went his way.

As the week progressed, the familiar chirp held a different note. It was insistent, but less demanding. He stepped onto the balcony, and there they were – fledglings – awkward and scruffy, flapping their newly developed wings.

He marveled, feeling a genuine smile tug at his lips.

Soon, the nest was empty, its purpose served. A cycle finished, a new one poised to begin.

Lucas was marked by this chance encounter of the feathered kind.

Every now and then, a bird would perch itself on the balcony and look into the house.

He was convinced it was one of the hatchlings now grown-up.

Soon, Lucas had bird feeders on the balcony and visitors of a variety of sorts. He also took up photography, drawing, and painting.

Since that fateful spring, he reconnected with his creative side. He eventually quit his job and became a visual artist. 

Although he is not as wealthy as he once was, he is now free, fulfilled, and happy.

Control, as it turns out, can be the enemy of happiness. A cage made out of fear of the unknown. Life from the outside called to Lucas. 

When he answered the call, life within him sprung out.

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