From The Error
“Ever wonder if chickens apologize to one another?”
“I do now,” Dean said gazing over the sparseness of the backyard. The chickens clucked and pecked at random, exploring bits they’d already scratched and turned over.
Angie sighed and sat back against the picnic table. “They seem to get back to life so readily after one of their fights.”
“What do they really have to be angry about?”
“I don’t know… chicken stuff.”
“Like who lays the best eggs or gets the prime roost?” Dean asked. His feet hung loose, and his shoes scraped ever so slightly against the ground when he swung them. Even when he lent forward on the bench, his hands at his sides to support him, he could barely reach the ground.
“I don’t know.”
“Is this like some metaphor or whatnot?”
“No. What. For what?”
Dean thrust his chin towards the chickens. “You’re talking about chickens.”
“But you’re not talking about chickens.”
“I’m quite sure I am.”
Dean smiled and shook his head. “No you aren’t. Well you are. But what you really want to talk about is Marcy.”
“Are you telling me what I’m thinking.”
“Nah, just what you’re trying not to think about.”
Angie punched Dean in the shoulder. “Well don’t.”
Today’s art is courtesy of Svetlana Dmirtrieva from St. Petersburg, Russia.