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  • There is always one.

    The one who doesn't fit in and impresses me by virtue of his weirdness. I stop my walking to watch and listen, to see what happens next and speculate on what he's thinking inside that little bird brain.

    He won't fly when the others fly, or then might disappear from the group for no reason at all. This creates all sorts of mayhem among the flock who like to do things, all birdy things - pecking, picking, preening, prancing - together.

    Instead he stands alone and stares. Looks out on the horizon, thinking of bigger skies, taller trees, crisper air in which he might take flight. He dreams of flying high and alone, getter a clearer perspective on things. The noise of this flock irritates him.

    An eagle in seagull's clothing.
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