Ambient.greenwaxedpaper

The blackbird spreads its wings and prepares to push itself from the tile edge about which its three-toed feet grip. His head turns back toward me, inquisitive, bright-eyed, and the beak scrapes open once more. The moment is like something precious, the plain sound drifting across the air between us, his eye beating into mine with jewel-like intensity. He cocks his head to the other side, somehow communicating everything that’s precious or real to him in a single moment; the flight, the crumbs he finds on an old woman’s yard, the way he splays his legs out to land against the gusting wind; he manages to convey it all so clearly that I can see it reflected like a hologram inside the back of my head. Or perhaps it was already there, perhaps he’s merely awakened it all with his single glance of undeniable clarity. His beak flaps open once more and his knees bend as he nestles his body back against the roof, ready to finally launch into the leaden sky. He twists his beak open once more, releases a single, terminal squawk and keels over onto his side. He twitches, claws jerking crookedly, feebly opens his beak and finally lies still. I buried him in waxed paper.