It’s raining, and there’s nothing on this bird to wick the water away, which just gathers in damp clusters, weighing me down.
I had a good thing going with this cuddling business. I was the best of the best.
The army won’t be so bad. There are critters there, too. Monkeys at least. Smart monkeys. Clever monkeys.
The street is hazy with damp fog and the streetlamps shine blurry halos of light. As I make my way to the base of the tree, yellow feathers float past me to the ground. I look up.
She looks down at me, stooped over a branch of the ash. Chick?
“Shh! You’ll wake Dad!” She waves me away, but loses her footing and slips down the rain-slickened trunk, landing on the grass on her butt.
“Your feathers are falling off,” I say to my sister while passing her a yellow clump.
“That is the least of our problems.”