I thought the noise was squirrels
but it was birds. I shook the tree
(made of bamboo?) and they flew
away, perhaps all of them. Someone
walking up the stairs looked at me with
what seemed like disdain. Maybe she a-
dored the birds up there in the tree which
was perhaps bamboo. Or she was afraid
that one of the birds flying away from the
tree—and the foreign and meddling beast
who’d so unexpectedly disturbed the tree
and its otherwise contained, recognizable,
and noisy community—perhaps she was
afraid that one of the birds might shit
right on her. Or maybe, quite simply,
she had a little bit of indigestion. It
was just around dinnertime, after
all, and she was, undoubtedly,
returning from the dining hall.
Whatever the case, I looked
down at her with a quick
smile—and then—fixed
sight upon the birds (or
whatever they were)
as they flew gently
and (now) noise-
lessly down in-
to the beauti-
ful ravine.
