In the parking lot of the drugstore today there were a pair of woman's sandals perched on the curb, one right next to the other, abandoned, but in perfect harmony, like they were ready, and waiting, for someone to step into them, and walk away.
I think one of my birds may be dying. She quietly sits on the perch in the corner of the cage, head tucked into her body, feathers ruffled, shunning the other two birds whenever they approach, only looking up, slightly dazed, when I snap my fingers in an effort to gain her attention.
I have the fan on low. It's on the desk behind me. It isn't oscillating, and I barely feel the breeze, but the sound itself is comforting enough to make me believe that sleep will soon be possible.
Good night.
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