For the Birds
There’s something going on with me and birds lately.
Two weeks ago, I had a ridiculous standoff with a pigeon (for my thoughts on pigeons, see here) that had weirdly hunkered down, blocking the narrow shortcut I take around the building I work in. I sidled by slowly, back pressed to the wall, eyes locked on beady eyes while speaking to it in soothing tones. “That’s right. You just stay there. No sudden movements and we’ll all be just fine,” before dashing for the safety of the parking lot.
The next week, on my early morning walk to Barreworks, I had to duck (heh) to avoid, not one, but three different birds: a sparrow, another damn pigeon, and a GIANT HAWK.
Not only did the hawk swoop down in the middle of the city, but it actually let out one of those haunting hawk screams as it dipped by my ear. It was spooky. I might have convinced myself I was still dreaming if not for the fact that there was an equally stunned, middle-aged woman in a floral housecoat putting out her garbage, who witnessed the whole thing.
Last night I dreamed that I ate an owl. I don’t really remember the context, or maybe in that dream way, there wasn’t any, but I promptly regretted it, and projectile vomited owl bits all over the place.
I woke up with a stomach ache.
I’m not sure what it all means, but I think I’ll avoid Swiss Chalet for a while anyway.