A bird sat in the mud. One leg bent down at an awkward angle, the other was tucked in and held close to its body. The crippled leg had been bitten by an alligator. The bite had happened over a year ago, the wound had healed nicely, no infection took hold, but the bird could no longer bear to set this wounded foot within the mud.
The other birds thought this notion of regret was worrisome and grew weary of this bird’s eccentricities and proclivities towards meanderings and feats of grandeur too blithe to remain unheeded in the night. And so the flock chose to take to the night, fly away to the dawn of a new day without this silly creature, they left it behind to contemplate the feeling of the ground swaying beneath its single clawed foot, rather than stand for another day’s light to shine against the silver toes tucked amongst the crystalline blue and virulent green of the bird’s feathers.
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