By Conrad Aiken
The parrot, screeching, flew out into the darkness,
Circled three times above the upturned faces
With a great whir of brilliant outspread wings,
And then returned to stagger on her finger.
She bowed and smiled, eliciting applause…
The property man hated her dirty birds.
But it had taken years—yes, years—to train them,
To shoulder flags, strike bells by tweaking strings,
Or climb sedately little flights of stairs.
When they were stubborn, she tapped them with a wand,
And her eyes glittered a little under the eyebrows.
The red one flapped and flapped on a swinging wire;
The little white ones winked round yellow eyes.
Monday was an insanely beautiful January day, 58 degrees and sunny. I did a bunch of chores in the morning and some more in the afternoon, but in between I got to be outdoors, first in the neighborhood, then at Cabin John Park, where we took a walk after stopping at Giant for lightbulbs we realized we needed when the lamp blew its bulb.
We had leftover pizza for dinner so I could watch the end of The Two Towers with Kristen, then Paul and I watched some Only Murders in the Building until it was time for Quantum Leap, still violating every form of the Temporal Prime Directive. Here are some flamingo art and some flowers in the conservatory at Brookside Gardens: