A Flutter of Twigs

I slipped through the balcony door into the crisp morning air. The black wrought-iron railing had a flat wooden rail across the top, perfectly wide enough for my paws. I hoisted myself up and paused, tilting sideways to watch the street below. A sparrow landed on the edge of an empty terracotta flower box right beside me. It held a dried stalk in its beak, cocking its head. I stayed very still, holding onto the smooth painted wood. The bird hopped two inches closer, fluttered its brown wings, and flew toward the canal trees, leaving behind a small gray feather wedged in the chipped clay.