We stopped whatever we were doing to look out the front widow and watch the little girl throw handfuls of bread crumbs at the small birds hopping on the sidewalk around her.
“What are those?” one of us asked the other.
“Some kind of wren or sparrow, maybe. I’ll get the book.”
By the time we found what we thought was the right page, it had started raining. The girl and the birds had left. To wherever they went when in this situation.
“It’s really coming down,” one of us said.
“I suppose I’ll take a shower,” the other replied.