Passerine

The afternoon before this morning, I watched six or seven starlings brave the snowstorm to pry the last of the withered chokeberries from the tree outside my room.  And then today, after praying for work to be cancelled and then trudging through the barely shovelled streets to the subway, there was a man, sitting so he looked back to where the train came from.

And he had the same expression as those birds.

I tried to read, but the words wouldn’t stick. So I watched him over the edge of my book.  More people got on, brushing away the snow.

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