Their towels and swim suits hung from the low branches of the chokeberry, still smelling faintly of chlorine. They sat on the porch, just out of the sun, drinking rapidly warming beer and sweating. She had the binoculars ready in case any birds showed up. He rolled cigarettes and yelled at the dog to stop barking.
A flash of red swooped down from above them.
The cardinal hopped from branch to branch, circling the vacant birdhouse.
“Oh shit,” they whispered in unison, “Go inside it, go inside.”
Later it was dark and they turned the music low and stayed quiet.