Flutter

Today was finished by 9.30 this morning. Trudding to work, boots scuffing sidewalk as the wet leather slouched lower. Grey streaks on grey sky. Machinary shrieked and screamed as roadworkers fixed the same piece of road they've been working on for a year and a half. And there was the end of my day, on the sidewalk, in my path. It looked like a furry thing at first, maybe a little mouse, soft and round. It was a tiny creature, with a full, smooth breast, a small bird, exquisitely beautiful, with delicate angular feet and soft speckled feathers, white flecks on black. I wanted to pick it up and hold it in my hand. It was so perfect, and whole. Not a scratch, or a ruffled feather. Lying on its back, a strange way for a bird to sleep.

Coming back from the methadone clinic, a month or so ago, I saw a different kind of bird, a sparrow, on the sidewalk in front of me. This one, was very much alive, struggling with something in its beak. This something resembled the biggest, juiciest slug a small bird could imagine. It was difficult for it to get a good grip, but the plain brown sparrow (cute, but plain), was determined. It made me sad. Its worm was bright, bright orange. They call them twisties, in NZ, and cheezies here. Those fat, cheeze puff chips that are just chemicals and dye. That's what it was taking home to its babies.