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"No precipitation expected today.”
Only the squawky talk and tap of the street crows, who pick at the popcorn a neighbor left for them; the birds dodge slow-moving cars with the insouciance of rock stars. No participation expected today. It’s Christmas and there’s nothing to do but sidestep thoughts of the year to come and consume the body of a blindsided bird slathered in rosemary and lemon rind. 100 percent prestidigitation today. Time hovers with the patience of the tagged and tortured, waiting for permission to move on, and, permission granted, travels at the speed of the joyless.
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