Dust

The others all began to dress for dinner as she went off to bury the bird. With a leather glove which made her think of falcons. And the cat, the beautiful cat, was having a dust bath. Killer cat, opportunist. But I love the cat. Thoughts came, as she dug with the glove which made her think of eagles and powerful things which wouldn't give a toss about their own reflection. Hollow bones fly easy, easy go. Scribble flight, finished like a shaken pen. Perhaps she was feeling too much. Probably the bird saw itself in the window, and became territorial. Just a common, everyday, dusty, dust-brown.