Daily story, December 27, 2024

I have thirty-nine photos of the empty bird feeder, one or two of them with a little brown blur in the corner where something has just flown away. You can flick through them and watch the seeds disappear and the fat balls crumble. I swipe from one to the next and imagine the bird visiting in between, taking its share. Imagine, not remember: I never quite saw them properly. I was too busy taking pictures.