Breakfast and a Bird Feeder

Heading back up from the late-night diner crawl, I slipped onto the apartment balcony just as the morning light caught the brick ledge. Right on the outer railing, someone had hung an old wooden bird feeder. A cluster of dry sunflower seeds had spilled into a narrow groove along the cedar trim. Balancing barefoot on the weathered rail, I used both hands to lever a heavy plastic feeder latch upward to inspect the grain chute. A plump city sparrow fluttered down onto the opposite peg with a heavy flap of wings, knocking a single black seed straight toward the edge. My reflexes fired—I dropped into a tight crouch, reached out, and snapped the seed out of midair before it tipped into the alley below. One seed saved, breakfast secured.