A circle is a pleasant shape. It’s the sun, the moon, the tires on a carriage in Central Park, the campaign button of someone who shouldn’t be President of the PTA much less the free world. A circle is familiar and we know a perfect circle is perfect, but a casual glance leaves any circle…
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The polebarn creaked a bird’s call every time the wind rolled by. The equally creaky man sitting lotus-style in the center of the polebarn visualized what type of bird reached out to him. Sometimes it was a robin, or an oriole, or a more ominous bird of prey, such as an eagle or hawk, but…
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Beep. Beep. Beep. The heart rate monitor chirped out a persistent, annoying, rise-at-dawn bird that needed David’s missile to the head. Smash, thud. One less giant nuisance of a noise. Why was I thinking this way? I don’t hate birds. But I do hate hospitals. And yet here I am. Uncalled-for but present. Inhaling ammonia…
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