“The cage was just as I’d left it, down to the droppings on the newspaper floor, black and white glisters with long moon-shadows. There was no water, and something was wrong with the food from being so old. I waited in the middle of the perch, mostly tranced, saving my energy, with my ‘head’ under my ‘wing’ so that I looked like a normal bird sleeping. It was a day or so. I could hear them in there, voices and thumps, pad-padding back and forth. I heard Scarlet’s voice, definitely, once or twice.... But they didn’t come out, and now that I was down here I didn’t have the overview I’d had. I remembered I used to be bored, when I was entirely bird; I used to greet them all, relieved, when they came out. But in this state there’s no such thing as boredom; the passing of time is interesting enough in itself. Flights of lorikeets came through on the way to the pine-seeds and the black-bean tree. I would have liked to join them, just to stretch my wings again. But such visits as mine are very circumscribed; every movement must be in relation to a prior Connection – or at least directed to a tangible good.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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