Monday, Sept. 27, 2004
I dream of standing in the shadow of the last wood structure in town and I lean over a concrete birdbath balanced on a pedestal. Dry, sepia stained leaves in a race together over the dirt and gravel of this alleyway, twisting around my pant legs. Only to end up hiding in the corners the brick building form, shaking their bones together in whispers.
Somehow this autumn remind me of the color of burned cities and civil war.
The birdbath is deep, cool and so very clear. The Starlings that play here move with lethargy, this makes them easy catch and then to drown.
In the end some will float on their sides, and the others fall and stick to the bottom of this little well.
I am repulsed when the birds, regain the shine to their obsidian eyes, and find their way to the concrete beachhead. Each and every reptilian finger tips scurrying and scratching as they shiver, dripping water from their iridescent heads.