Is there a bird more ridiculous than the bushtit? A gang landed en masse on the fennel bush looking for seeds, nearly knocking it askew, sounding like cartoon chew toys as it swayed like the mast of a boat in the harbor. Meanwhile the bees carry on, following the mad dance of branches.
The one, just there, on the edge of the meadow, contemplating the morning mist, where it gathers in the branches, like soft flocks of birds.
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