bird

I can see nothing at first to make them fly. It isn't me that they sense - but as I pass closer I see movement in the scrub - a barely perceptible shimmering. I feel my heart quicken despite my disinterest. Just walk, I tell myself, just walk. But I slow as I pass, and I can't quite help the quick glance over - just enough to see - almost - the flick of bright fabric - the jar of something that shouldn't be there. It takes a moment to centre, to coagulate, but when it does I stop suddenly with shock.