If only

Perched on one decrepit tree, Aster caught her breath. The lands surrounding the islands were harsh to blue jays like herself, but at least the dying trees supplied a safe vantage point. She couldn’t say the same about the nearby deserts.

She doubted she’d stay here for long, though, as the darkened soil and blueish vegetation made for ill omens. Was the ooze here as well? She hoped not; she’d been running from that for a while. The only creature she saw nearby was a large snake, and it seemed free from the illness’s telltale signs, so she supposed she ought to relax.

How else did a blue jay relax but to sing? She chirped out a warmup, breathed in deep, and sang at the top of her lungs.

“Her eye is bright as burnished steel,
Her note a quick defiant cry;
Harsh as a hinge her grating squeal
Sounds from the keen wind sweeping by.”

// Poem written by Hamlin Garland