Lovely seeds. Odd choice of ceiling.
A Place Set
The seeds were arranged beautifully. The ceiling was held up by a stick.
The bird stopped beside the garden path. He had spent the morning finding things that looked like food until he picked them up. Now a little scatter of proper seeds lay beneath the raised edge of an orange cardboard box.
Some were round. Some were pale and pointed. None appeared to be an empty husk.
“Help yourself,” said a voice from the hedge.
The bird looked toward the leaves.
“For me?”
“Of course. There are plenty.”
He put one foot into the shade and bent toward a seed near the edge. It smelled dry and pleasantly nutty.
“That’s very generous.”
“No trouble at all.”
The Low Ceiling
The bird ate the seed. Beyond that first grain, a larger helping waited farther beneath the box.
“There you are,” said the voice. “A little farther in.”
He took a small step. The light turned orange around his head, and the ground smelled of damp cardboard. When he lifted one wing to settle his feathers, its tips brushed the sloping roof.
He folded it again and looked up.
There was room to stand, if he kept his head down. Flying would require a different arrangement.
The bird backed into the sunlight. Behind him, the box remained propped at its angle.
“Something wrong?” the voice asked.
“Not with the seeds.”
“They’re very good seeds.”
“They seem to be.”
He looked at the open patch of earth beside the path.
“Could you put a few here?”
A Different Table
For a moment, the hedge made no sound.
“The lunch is under the box,” the voice said.
“Yes. I wondered if a little of it could be outside.”
“It has all been arranged.”
The bird waited. A leaf turned slowly on its stem. Nothing emerged from behind it.
He glanced at the stick, then at the low space beyond the seeds.
“I’d rather eat here.”
“There’s no charge.”
“Thank you. I heard.”
“Then come along. You’ll miss the best of it.”
The bird put a little more distance between himself and the box.
“I’ll leave it, thank you.”
“After all the trouble—”
He had already turned toward the garden border. The voice continued for a few steps, but he did not turn back to answer.
Near the border, he paused to look at a dry seed head leaning over the path. A dull thump sounded behind him.
He glanced back.
The orange box had come down. There was no longer a space beneath its edge.
The bird looked up at the seed head again.
No Roof Required
A few seeds still clung inside the dry casing. He caught the stem with his beak and gave it a small shake. One seed fell onto the earth. Then another.
He picked them up, working his way along the border where more stalks stood among the grass.
There was no neat pile waiting for him. He had to look beneath the curled leaves and turn over the occasional husk. But the next seed was full, and so was the one after that.
A breeze lifted the feathers along his back. He opened both wings, stretched, and folded them comfortably against his sides.
From somewhere behind the hedge came a rustle of cardboard.
The bird finished the seed in his beak before moving to the next stalk.
The portions were modest. The ceiling was excellent.
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