A bird shat on my muffin box

And, in true form, I questioned the nature of reality

This morning, after noticing we had no breakfast food in the house, I headed out to the local muffin shop.

It was a perfect morning. Not a cloud in the sky. It wasn’t too hot yet. The birds were out. It was enchanting, really.

Walking is like steroids for my brain. Combining the act of walking with a beautiful morning like this made for the perfect neurological and aesthetic soup for my thoughts to take flight.

So, where’d my mind go? Yep… Straight towards pondering whether or not everything ACTUALLY happens for a reason or not (because isn’t that what everyone thinks about on a muffin run?).

While walking back, just before arriving home, I felt a tap on the top of the muffin box I was carrying. A pitter. Or a patter, if you will…

As I looked down, I saw this…

Yep… That’s bird shit.

There it was. The perfection of the universe right in front of me embodied as… bird shit.

Look how perfect that little bird’s aim was. To drop his droppings in the little valley between the two peaks in the ‘M’ required impeccable precision.

It looks uniform, doesn’t it? Like it should be part of the logo.

Anyone else may have been annoyed or even disgusted. But for me, this event only added coal to the burner that drove this already speeding train of existential thoughts down the track.

When we got home, I happened to look over at our fence. It’s an old, rickety thing that’s falling apart. I was drawn closer.

The nails were rusted the same shade of brown as the wood. I touched one of them. It was perfect. That nail was doing its job perfectly. The temperature of the nail was perfectly tuned to the temperature of its environment. The molecular structure of the nail had kept its perfect integrity throughout the years. It hadn’t changed into an apple or a sponge or a blade of grass.

And, the bird shit. Was it perfect? Of course it was. Maybe this post will inspire someone to cure the world of all its ills. If that bird wouldn’t have shat on my muffin box, maybe I would have written about something lame. And that cure would never have came.

It was perfect. All of it. The bird shit. The nail. And this chocolate chip muffin making its way into my belly right now.

All is right in the universe.

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Jonas writes daily essays and meditations at Medium. To get them delivered straight to your inbox as soon as they’re live, click here.