Teacup-chatter pigeons lifted into flight, a sudden spear — anxiety spiking in a six of spades twilight card. The reason, regal, sashayed into a late life sky being; amber under with warnings: this is the evening of the wolf-bird — you have no claim to the moon.
Pound coins in coal tit feathers grip branches for the very first time. Courage, calling orange, buttercup bellies out in the wind wild — see these tiny antidotes to whatever salt you brought under the tree.