Thursday, January 20, 2005

The Sparrow


Cold.
Deep January cold that makes you dread the journey from the car to the house, or the parking lot to the school or the store. Cold that bites your skin, warning your instincts that it is no minor thing to be trifled with, and you had better hurry. Cold that negates the shining sun and tightens up the twinkling of the shivering stars. It makes the waiting cat change her mind about going outdoors, even though she despises her litter box.
And the sparrow fluffs out its feathers and says, "It is nothing."

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