“There’s a bird out there.”
I lowered my McCarthy novel and looked at my sister, who stood in my doorway clutching her Kindle to her chest. Just two minutes ago she had been seated comfortably on the patio of our condo rental, and now she was making declarations about poultry. I was thinking of something along the lines of a yellow canary, but the dilation of her pupils said pterodactyl. I tossed Blood Meridian to the side and followed her into the living room and there beheld a guest at the sliding glass door. It was Arnold Swartzabird.
Moments later I snapped another photo of it eating a piece of wheat bread, only to notice the little sticker on the door that read: Do Not Feed Wildlife. For those who would claim illiteracy as a feasible excuse for misinterpretation, three pictures of said wildlife were featured in a red circle with a diagonal line across it, one of which was a giant bird. Hmm. While that was troubling since somebody had blatantly violated the sticker commandment, I’m sure whoever did it was simply thinking that the bird might be hungry, and it would be better to let it have something fresh-baked from the Publix deli rather than watch it peck my sister’s Kindle cover to death out of frustration. Obviously the poor creature was hungry or it wouldn’t be going door to door soliciting crumbs and scaring the wits out of innocent vacationers, and what was the real harm unless it was gluten intolerant? At least I’d assume that’s what was running through the bread giver’s thoughts. How on earth should I know what a demented, Florida law-breaking mind would be thinking?
Ending the post now.
© 2013 – Traci Carver