Inspired by something seen or heard but can’t remember where or when.

Valentine’s Day is a prehistoric day of celebration monopolized and monetized by Hallmark. So much so that presumably intelligent humans are willing to spend vast amounts of time and money shuffling and stuffing Valentine cards in display case slots surrounded by hair care products and tweezers.

Each looking for that one special card that says exactly how you feel about someone, even though it is a made-up quote by a frustrated wannabe author in Omaha, Nebraska who gets fifteen cents for every post Hallmark accepts.

Not to mention the vast amounts of flowers, chocolates, balloons and stuffed animals that accompany a five-dollar card in an ill-fitting envelope. All in an attempt to bedazzle the heart and mind of the object of our affection.

In the opinion of this old man, anytime you begin to think the prancing of a peacock is any more sincere than that of the sparrow, you’ve lost sight of what love really is.

Love isn’t the gifting of cards and material shiny things. It’s eye contact, smiles for no reason, finishing the other’s sentences. It’s listening when it’s important to them, it’s putting their needs first, it’s saying “I love you” without uttering a word.

It’s making them your 1-hour person. If the world was coming to an end and everything you know and all that you are was about to mist into oblivion. It’s the person you want to spend your last hour on earth with. A last dance of the sparrow.