Thursday 21 March 2013


I miss him.

Every day, he comes. Same time, same place. Pushing his worldly possessions in a shopping cart, he stops by the fountain. From the cart, he extracts a little folding chair, which he opens and places next to him. From his pocket comes a slice of bread. Then, sitting down, he meticulously breaks the bread into tiny pieces. These are spread in a gentle arc about him. The grass instantly turns into a carpet of birds. For a few moments, it is a sea of beaks, feathers and claws. Then, just as quickly the birds evaporate, and it is green again. With no time wasted, he folds the little chair and packs it back into the cart. Off he goes, purposefully pushing his world in front of him.

Then one day he isn't there. Nor the next and the next.

What has become of him. His humbleness has managed to infect me profoundly. A man with nothing, but always enough for the birds. I think of him often. I miss him. I hope he is happy.

Who will feed the birds.
Using the word infect with the context:


  1. )': This is quite sad. But it's lovely too.

  2. Really sad, but almost whimsical at the same time. Nice work.

  3. I love the "carpet of birds" detail. Really nice.

  4. oh wow. this was lovely, yet so sad. nicely done.

  5. Oh,this is such a beautiful piece full of compassion & spirit of giving!

  6. This is awesome! I like that the narrator notices this person and takes the time to wonder what has become of him.

  7. Sweet! I love the carpetting nad uncarpetting of the birds.