We sit out in the sun, under a tree, while the wind gusts and falls. I stare up into the fluttering new leaves with hardly a thought in my head until I see a movement that is neither leaf nor breeze.
A bird sits on a branch high above me, his tail feathers hanging over my chair.
"Hey, don't poop on me, or we're gonna have a problem," I call up to the bird, and he obligingly turns so his tail feathers are facing the other way, but I'm not sure what I would have done if he had decided to poop.
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