sunnudagur, nóvember 19, 2006

svartar greinar

You always liked the finches. I always liked the corvids.

Today there were cardinals and blue jays in the tree next door. The cardinals looked like animate greeting card motifs, cheery red birds eating cheery red berries. It made me sad that cliché was the word that ran through my mind.

You never cared about such things. You liked the red birds and the red berries on the black branches, and it was never a cliché for you any more than it was for the birds.

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