A Breeze on the Armrest

I stepped slowly onto the broad armrest of the garden bench, letting the afternoon cross-draft brush softly past my wings. The elevated timber caught every wandering breath of air. Near the curved edge lay a small terracotta bead from an old wind chime, still threaded on a fraying hemp string. Moving with quiet patience, I nudged the bead with my snout until it settled neatly into a groove between two silvered wood slats, steadying the cord against my claw. The orange hatchling clambered up beside me, resting its chin against the cool clay while the breeze tapped the string in gentle rhythm.