A Speck of Parchment

Waddling down the front steps after noon, I followed the warm scent of toasted sugar to an outdoor bakery patio. A black wrought-iron chair sat empty beneath the awning. I hopped onto the crossbar, then scrambled up to the woven metal seat. Near the curved armrest, a tiny slip of buttered parchment paper fluttered against the metal grid. I paused, tilting my head. Leaning in with my beak, I pressed the curled edge flat. It held for a heartbeat, then lifted in the breeze, trembling softly. I stayed perched, watching it flutter against the midday sun.