Tuesday

Piet Mondrian, 1909

The birds are beautiful today. I remember no other day have they sung such an integrated symphony. Then I hear why:

“Who’s responsible for cleaning up this dead thing?” “Uh. I dunno . . . yeh, ‘t’s a dead bird, I guess.”

The winged beauties circled wide and high above their lost child . . . and sang and cried to each other all morning.

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