phthalombrage | (no subject)

This morning I step outside and spot a large, beautiful white bird (Ardea alba, most likely), tall and majestic on the lawn. It cranes its neck (lolz, it's an egret), its stiltlike orange legs planted firmly between the blades of grass, and looks at me. This connection between domesticated me and the (semi-? can't trust the beggars these days) wild bird amazes me for an instant. On this suburban lawn stands a fascinating exotic creature, a proud, unbridled, elegant denizen of the natural world we humans have long forsaken. We remain locked in this mutual regard until a pale spurt issues from the posterior end of the bird, like an individual serving of icing in a cupcake factory. With that, it makes an abrupt volte-face, its wings snapping open, and soars southward, over the Cubans' house (to my right, which The Odyssey claims is a good omen.... no snake in mouth, though), neck retracted, huge feathery behind suspended in the air by the strong and constant beating of wings, beating like my jaded teenage heart as I roll my eyes and crawl into my car.