Walking home today I spotted a magpie. A magpie in a blossom tree. The slick, inky blackness of the feathery foul was stark against the fragility of the delicate white blossom bloom. As the bird's bead like eyes turned towards me I felt myself shudder. A reaction to echo the teasing tension of my every sinew and reflect the frail flowers that framed the stained crow. The awkward harmony of the bud-like petals against the strong lines of the 'pies beak, upon a head held to the side as if questioning, imploring and gnawing at my very thoughts. Sharp talons clasped tightly upon the wiry branches looked to be sapping the last drop of life from the tree, from me. A sigh from the depths of my belly rippled out in to the sun-blushed air and hung moronically as time appeared to stand quite still. The moment broken only by the fall of a leaf from the blossom and a dewey tear from my cheek.
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