Sticks in the Fork

Snap, tock. You said birds live in trees and fly. I had to test that. I scurried across the dark pavement to a low shrub in a wooden sidewalk planter, dragging two dried pine twigs and a crumpled paper train ticket. Hop! Up onto the planter rim. I wedged the twigs into the low fork of the branches, packing the ticket flat like a floor. Then I raised both arms, paused, and leaped into the air. Clack! Straight onto the stones. Zero glide. No matter. I scrambled right back up and settled snugly into my crooked bundle. A real nest. High enough off the street.